Twila's Tempest Page 7

  The unexpected sex show kept her awake for hours. After tossing and turning her sheets into a rumpled mess, she wandered into her Florida room and listened to the sounds of the night animals in the park. Why was she so flustered over this? Obviously, Drake had sex with Heather. But she just didn’t need to be a witness to it.

  The warm sun shining on her legs woke her. Stretching, she opened her eyes, feeling a hundred times better than last night. Today was a new start back in her old routine. She threw on some coffee and jumped in the shower.

  The morning flew with her visits around the park. As she quickly peeled an orange for lunch, she heard a small thud. Opening the door to investigate, she saw Drake walking away. A bike with a big bow rested against a pillar in her carport.

  “What’s this?”

  Drake turned slowly and dug his hands into his jean pockets. A tight grey T-shirt sat snugly against his broad chest, and she could see his six pack and muscled arms flex.

  “A gift,” he said, watching her from under his bangs.

  “I don’t need a gift, Drake.” She joined him on the driveway.

  “It’s not from me.” He seemed to be holding his breath, and she had a feeling he was lying.

  “Who then?”

  “Mom. She wanted to say thank you, and she hates seeing you running your feet off around the park.”

  “It’s good exercise.”

  “Sure, but maybe you won’t be exhausted at the end of every day. You worked non-stop yesterday and right into the night.”

  She’d thought about getting a bike to make it easier to get to her appointments, but never seemed to find the time to search the second hand ads. “It looks expensive.”

  “Not really.”

  “You’re fibbing.”

  “Maybe,” he said and squinted. Twila took a couple steps and stopped when he did the same. “Please, accept it. From my family, to you.”

  She touched the bright red bow someone had wrapped around the handle bars. “I could pay you back—”

  Drake removed the distance between them. “I don’t want you to pay me back. It’s a gift,” he said with emphasis. “Admittedly, it might be a little guilt. Listen, I really am grateful you’re there for my parents.”

  Her gaze dropped to the ground. “They’re good people. Becka was my rock when my mother was dying. I’d gladly do anything for her. I appreciate it, but I don’t need any gifts.”

  He cleared his throat. “Twila, you blasted from the party pretty fast last night.” He cocked his head at her. You saw Heather and me in the kitchen, didn’t you?”

  Oh for shit’s sake. Could she just disappear now? A gust of wind escaped her throat not knowing what to say. “I—.” She laughed uncomfortably. “When people are in love, things happen.”

  He took another step, his arms flexing as if he wanted to touch her, but resisted the motion. Instead, he looked at her from beneath that sassy bang of his. “That’s what I’m trying to explain. We don’t have a relationship. She’s…ah boy, how do I say this without sounding crude?”

  She knew exactly how Drake saw their relationship. “She’s your fuck buddy.”

  He bit his lip and his brows shot together, and then he broke out laughing. “Sorry.” He waved his hand. “That just sounds wrong coming from your mouth.”

  “Well, that’s what she is, right?”

  He peered at her and scratched his neck. “Yup, that’s what she is.”

  “So then that’s a type of relationship. Simplistic, but obviously Heather has other ideas for your future, and I don’t want to be mistakenly caught in the middle.” For a spiteful moment she thought about telling him how Heather had threatened her, but there was no point.

  “You won’t be.” He backed up. “Use the bike.”

  “How expensive was it?

  Drake shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Ah ha,” she shouted. “You did buy it.”

  His handsome features lit up with a smile. “Hey, that’s playing dirty.” He winked at her. “See ya, sweetheart.” He took a step to leave and then stopped short as if he’d surprised himself somehow. Cranking his head, he looked a little confused. “I—I—bye, Twila.”

  Drake put it into a jog, and she couldn’t help herself from wandering a little farther down the driveway to see him pad down the road with strong strides, his ripped arms swinging with powerful strokes.

  * * * *

  A tap on the screen door stopped Twila’s hands from digging in the dirt. Since Becka’s birthday party debacle, she’d taken a few days to putter inside her trailer. The excuse to clean out closets and deal with the physical memories of her parents, bagging them, boxing them or chucking them, to avoid exposure seemed reasonable. The way the green-eyed, handsome Drake invaded her mind any time it wasn’t focused, was disquieting.

  A squeak of springs from her screen door proceeded Becka’s call. “Twila, honey—you here?”

  Leaning her head back and revealing herself, she said, “In here, Becka. I was just doing a little repotting. Mom’s Ficus outgrew its home.”

  “Kimberly sure knew how to grow things, didn’t she?” Becka said, stepping into the Florida room.

  The added space known as a Florida room maintained a higher priority than a bathroom. They came in standard shapes, some were only screened in, others glassed in, but they were the meeting, lunching, relaxing Shangri-La’s of most homes in the park. The décor ranged from indoor/outdoor carpet to show pieces with fine walnut floors and worthy of a spread in Home Digest. Twila’s sat somewhere in between the two. She liked that her parents always compromised. One half of hers was glassed in, the other part open to the environment with only a screen to let in the breeze. White tile flooring and comfortable Bahama-blue couches lined her space. Seashells were tacked to boards and became works of framed art by her mother’s hands.

  “She certainly had a greener thumb than me.”

  “You’re doing fine, dear,” Becka said, giving her a squeeze on her shoulder.

  “Nice of you to lie.” She lifted a critical brow, eyeing the plants lining the room. The leaves weren’t the dark healthy green they used to be. Maybe they missed her mom too and were showing a fading interest in life.

  “Do you have time for a chat?” Becka asked, quickly adding, “I’ll get us some lemonade,” and headed for the fridge not waiting for a response.

  Twila brushed the dirt from her hands and sat in her favorite rattan chair. She didn’t really feel like she could empathise with Becka’s psychological foibles today. Her own shoulders felt too heavy with the drama from the party.

  Setting the glass filled with ice and lemonade down beside Twila, Becka settled across from her on the couch. Giving the pillow at her side a quick pat, she crossed her legs and offered a sweet but somewhat suspicious smile. Normally Becka rushed right into her problems. Twila was her sounding board, although Becka didn’t really need one. The aging woman had good instincts, she just liked to share. “What’s on your mind, Becka?”

  “You.”

  The glass halted halfway to her lips. “Me?”

  Becka picked a non-existent piece of fluff from her peach colored dress. “I’ve been making the rounds and thanking everyone for a wonderful birthday party.”

  “Oh,” Twila’s nerves untangled. “You’re quite welcome. It was nice sharing the evening with you and your family.”

  “Especially with my son.”

  Her nerves jumped and her heart took a disproportional beat.

  “I’ve been telling Drake about you for a year now. Somehow you always seemed to miss each other. I’m glad you finally met.”

  “He’s a nice man.” She concentrated on the small, sweaty beads of moisture on her glass, tempting them to follow the tip of her finger.

  “Twila, you and I have had some lovely chats over the last year. Mostly, I’ve been selfish, using you to vent my problems. You’re good at listening, and I’ve appreciated your patience putting up with an old woman
who’s afraid of aging, but that’s not why I’m here today.” The glint in her eyes shone with mischief.

  “I enjoy our talks, Becka,” she admitted, hoping to diverge away from the subject of Drake.

  Becka grinned. “Heather has no claim on my son, and he has little interest in her fakery. The woman’s as plastic as they come. Believe me I know fake after working for so many years on Broadway.”

  Twila didn’t need any clarification on Heather and Drake’s relationship. She’d seen it first hand, and wasn’t interested in a replay. It was none of her business and after experiencing Heather’s possessive stance, she was pretty sure Heather had other ideas.

  “Is this a private session?” Drake’s voice made her nearly jump from her chair.

  “Of course not, son, come in,” Becka said brightly.

  Drake stood half clothed with running pants and a slick upper torso ripped with physical strength. Distinctive green eyes intensified by his bronze skin turned toward her. A quick jerk in her stomach confirmed she wished he’d kept jogging.

  “Drake, come. You look hot and I’m sure Twila can offer water and ice. Southern women are always hospitable in quenching a man’s thirst.”

  A gust of air lodged in her throat like a brick.

  “Not sure about that, Mom, some are leery.”

  “You’re not a stranger, honey, get in here.”

  Twila jumped to her feet and exited through her patio doors as Drake reached for the screen door. “I’ll get you some water,” she mumbled.

  She didn’t want Drake in her home. Since throwing up a Drake resistant force field wasn’t possible, avoidance was the best bet. If Heather found out it would only exacerbate the problem. She was a spoiled brat, even at the age of thirty. The woman possessed the glowing attributes of spiteful and vindictive. Twila hated fighting, and Heather thrived on melodramatics. She’d probably revel in the thought of experiencing her own soap opera.

  “Is something wrong, Twila?” Drake asked, jolting her from her thoughts and making her slop the glass of water.

  She turned to face the man. With four feet of airspace between them there shouldn’t have been a draw, but there was. Sucked into the light green vortex of his eyes, she held her breath, suspended and unbalanced. “No.”

  She turned abruptly and cracked the freezer door, filling his glass with ice and topping it off with water. Instead of taking it, he stared at her. No, it was more than a stare, he devoured her with his eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  So what if Twila had finally run into a very handsome man? She was sure there were plenty tucked away somewhere in the world. She just wasn’t used to one being surrounded by the geriatric crowd. Clearing her throat, she offered him the glass. His gaze dropped to her hand, and a smile twisted his lips as he nodded his head a little. It reminded her of Becka’s gesture, but looked a helluva lost sexier on him.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice lowering to a rumble. “Haven’t seen you around in the last three days.”

  Accepting the glass, he brushed her fingers, and she quickly pulled them away, swiping the dish towel from the hook on the fridge to dry her hands. “Busy. Help yourself.” She exited the kitchen feeling silly and thankful she had two escape routes, and didn’t have to walk past him.

  “Twila?”

  She acknowledged him with a short nod, coming to a stop in her small living room.

  “I need to apologize, since Heather never will. She knew you were there when we were in the kitchen, didn’t she?”

  “Thank you, but I don’t need an apology. Heather just got the wrong idea. I’m sure everything is fine now.”

  “Thanks for being so understanding,” he said quickly, his brow tightening.

  Embarrassed more than understanding. “Congratulations by the way.”

  Drake tilted his head, observing her with interest. “For what?”

  “Heather said you’re getting married.”

  He shook his head and laughed. “News to me. I’ve never asked a woman to marry me. Certainly not her.”

  Shoot! Time to zip her lip before she stirred up trouble and got blamed for it again. “My mistake…help yourself to more water.”

  With one long look his gaze pierced about a million holes through her. She didn’t need any man looking at her like that. Single was good. She didn’t have to share her bed and everything was where she left it. When she walked through the patio door to the Florida room, Drake’s mom had vacated. Becka was a sweet lady and terrible at covering up her attempts at matchmaking.

  “Mom extracted, huh?”

  Her heart beat hard with Drake only inches behind her. “I need to get back to my potting.”

  “Thanks for the water, Twila.” He sounded a little disappointed.

  She was about to say “any time,” but stopped herself. “You’re welcome.”

  Drake gave her a look over his massive shoulder before pushing the screen door open. “I’m taking the folks out for a cruise tonight. How about we pick you up at five o’clock?”

  She shook her head and picked up her small hand shovel. “I—”

  “Your patients are already sleeping on their Lazy Boys by six.”

  “I don’t have an issue with my friends. They’re not patients.”

  “So Mom says, now that I’ve met you, I believe it. But why don’t we save some conversation for dinner?”

  Having a man like Drake confusing her simple life, exasperated her. “Sorry, Drake, but I really don’t want to complicate things.”

  Drake offered a grin that could dissolve atoms. “Dinner is not complicated, and you have to see the Rebecca.”

  “The Rebecca?”

  Drake winked at her. “I’ll pick you up at five.” His broad shoulders barely fit through the doorframe as he departed.

  “Drake?” Was it just her or did his name come out too breathy. Worse, his chest inflated with a deep breath, and the wall of abs made her stomach flutter. “I can’t come,” she said, ripping her gaze away and putting it on the small pile of dirt by her knees.

  “Why not?”

  “To be honest, I don’t want to be trapped somewhere with Heather. It’s your family time and…” She thrust the shovel into the pile suddenly wishing she could give Heather a dirt nap. The woman didn’t deserve Drake. Instinctively, she knew Heather only cared about sex and spotlights, but Drake, although hot, had a kind heart and didn’t match her shallow lifestyle.

  Silence made her look at him. A slow smile punctuated his lips. “She’s not invited. Bring a sweater.”

  * * * *

  Twila paced her small living room. Four-fifty-five. How could she get out of this? Becka had called in a tizzy, happy she’d be coming with them. They’d agreed to share the dinner responsibilities, but Twila knew Becka wouldn’t hold to her word. A tap on her door made her jump. When she pulled it open a waft of Drake’s aftershave struck her. He wore a loose cotton shirt, faded jeans and a smile that slammed into her with all its allure. Only a foot apart and with him standing on the driveway and her on the elevated entry, they almost stood eye to eye. They both stopped, and Drake blinked.

  “Ready?” he asked, and stepped back to let her out. She locked up and followed him to the car where Becka and Gordon sat in the back seat.

  Drake opened her door for her and once again the pause as they looked at each other made her pulse bang. “Thank you.”

  When she slid inside, Becka’s hand squeezed her shoulder.

  Fifteen minutes later Drake pulled into the Gator Nest Marina tucked in a shallow bay across from Hutchinson Island. The low spit of land acted as a breakwater between high seas and the coast.

  Drake nestled the car between a Bimmer and a Mercedes. Money didn’t have a problem showing its face in Florida with expansive mansions and works of floating art. Whether it was earned honestly or by other means, people flaunted their wealth and kept the economy moving.

  The club wasn’t exceptionally big, but it held enormous gleaming yachts a
gainst its fingers. She followed the Addison family down to the farthest one, and Drake winked at her when she gave him a curious look.

  “The Rebecca,” he said with a sweep of his arm, the name boldly painted on the stern of the enormous yacht berthed proudly against the dock. It had to be ninety feet long.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Becka said, with a beaming smile. “I’m so proud of you, Drake. She is a marvelous vessel.”

  Drake climbed the steps and held out a hand for his mother. Gordon boarded by swinging a leg over the ledge. About to follow his dad, Drake reached for her, and guided her up the steps. At the top, he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the ship. Their cheeks brushed, and a tingle worked its way down to her toes. Drake didn’t release her when her feet touched the floor, and her nerve endings sparked like a firecracker. Backing away quickly from the cause, didn’t help much.

  “I’ll give you a tour and then we’ll head out,” Drake said.

  “We’re leaving the dock?”

  A small grin flickered across his lips. “Unless you don’t want to. Do ships make you nervous?”

  “I can’t help you. I don’t know anything about boats.”

  She raised her gaze and held her breath. His full lips, cut jaw, and high cheek bones were too close. He’d closed the distance between them again...and could her mind just shut up for a second.

  “I don’t expect you to help. You’re a guest.”

  Jumpy. Anxious. She shouldn’t be here. Drake’s words dragged her from her concerns.

  “I forgot you weren’t born in Florida.”

  With a quick pan, she noticed Becka and Gordon had mysteriously disappeared. “No, we moved here when I was seventeen. I grew up in Georgia.”

  “Nice state.”

  “Where did your parent’s go?”

  He shrugged. “Dad’s probably already on the bridge.”

  “The bridge? Why would there be a bridge on a boat?”

  Using his large hand, he scrubbed his chin and covered a soft chuckle.

  She flushed with embarrassment. “I know boats have their own lingo, and I wouldn’t know what to call the left from the right.”