Chapter 11

Back at the boat, people were congratulating her and clamoring with Jock to surf the big kahunas. Jessica was wired from the wild ride, ready to bounce into the balmy tropical air and soar up to the clouds.

“See what you started?” Tag asked, eyeing the group scrambling to go out and surf. “You’re one ballsy chick.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” She began to unhook her PFD.

He rolled his eyes heavenward as if looking for help from the Almighty. “You got lucky.”

“If you say so.”

One of the divas sashayed up to Jessica. “Could I use that life jacket?”

“Sure.”

“You broke a strap out there,” the diva said.

Jessica glanced down and saw the spaghetti strap on her bikini had snapped. The PFD had held the top in place, but if she wasn’t careful, she would be topless. She used one hand to hold the bikini and shrugged out of the PFD. The diva took it and headed toward the stern.

“You might have told me,” she said to Tag.

“And spoil the fun?”

Men. Their minds were always on sex, but she was too jazzed to let him faze her.

Smirking, on the verge of chuckling, he tossed her a towel. One hand clutching her bikini, she used the other to dry herself. Her hair was hopeless, but she swiped at it anyway.

He dried himself a little, but his lashes were still wet and clumped together. Droplets of spray glistened from the dark hair on his chest. His swim trunks were soaked and clung to his body. She pretended to be drying herself not covertly checking out his package.

It wasn’t the size of the wand, she reminded herself. It was the magician. Still, something told her … oh, my.

Get a grip, Jessica. You’re not into brainless hunks.

“Come below. Jock keeps T-shirts in one of the cabins.”

Holding her top in place, she followed him through the empty salon to a tiny cabin off the captain’s quarters. He began opening drawers.

It was a little musty in here, she thought. Evidently, this cabin didn’t get used much. The waves hit the hull of the boat with a slapping sound that reminded her of how it felt to surf a humongous wave—and not wipe out.

She’d done it. She’d conquered a wave most surfers would never even see let alone attempt to surf.

“When I was surfing, it was really strange,” she said. “One minute I was so terrified I couldn’t move. The next second I was euphoric. It was almost as if I’d taken some controlled substance.”

He turned around, a T-shirt in his hand. “I know. It’s a legal high, a real rush.”

“You felt the same way, too?”

“Yeah. We’ve been shacked.”

Shacked. A surfing orgasm.

The way he said it sent a chill skittering through her. She tried not to notice the hard planes of his chest, the way his trunks hung low on his slim hips and clung to his amazing bod. She grabbed the T-shirt with her free hand, but he wouldn’t let go.

“You scared the hell out of me. I thought I’d have to dive in after you.”

“I managed,” she replied, justifiably proud of herself.

“Did you ever. Toes on the nose even.”

“Were you on the nose when you surfed a kahuna?” She tugged on the T-shirt he was still holding.

“No, sweet cheeks. Just as I hit the green room, the wave clamshelled.”

“Poor baby. That’s too bad.”

She couldn’t resist teasing him. There was a light in his eyes that she couldn’t quite read. Evidently this was a macho thing. Somehow she’d bested him by surfing toes on the nose and not wiping out.

“Poor baby? You’ll think poor baby.”

“Are you going to give me the T-shirt or not?”

A slow smile curved his lips. “I’m thinking about it. Might be more fun to watch you hold up that excuse for a bikini.”

She let go of the T-shirt. “I can always use a towel.”

“About our bet—”

“Bet’s off.”

“You’re welshing?” he asked with fake shock.

“Whatever.”

He gazed into her eyes and seemed capable of almost … anything. It was a jolting moment. Tension hung—suspended in the air between them. Even though she wasn’t touching him, she felt him.

His power.

His heat.

He smiled, then said, “Can’t let you get away with welshing.”

“You’ll get over it.” She turned to leave, wondering if men ever thought about anything but sex.

He crossed the small area in one quick stride. His arm shot over her shoulder and slammed the door shut.

“Now, see here.”

“I’m looking.” He pointedly gazed down at her breasts where she was struggling to hold the worthless bikini together.

“I’m outta here—now.”

His gaze fastened on her lips. “Not until you kiss me.”

He didn’t wait for her response. As his firm mouth met hers, his body pushed her up against the closed door. He pressed himself flush against her. Blood thundered in her temples, blocking out the excited shouts of the group preparing to surf and the slap-slap of the sea against the hull.

She tasted the salt on his lips from the spray he’d received while driving the Jet Ski. Her lungs filled with the warm male scent of his body and the Tropitone sunscreen he was wearing.

Recalling the meltdown kiss on the beach, she couldn’t help parting her lips. She honestly couldn’t.

His tongue slid into her mouth and tangled with hers. A liquid heat surged through her body. With her free hand, she caressed the back of his neck and wove her fingers through his hair.

Without breaking the kiss, he wiggled his hand between their bodies and pried her fingers off the broken bikini strap. He tucked her freed hand around his neck. The hard length of his body, from shoulders to knees, pushed against her.

She clung to him, unable to get enough.

Abruptly he stopped kissing her and took a step back. Before she realized what was happening, her bikini top slid down, exposing her breasts.

“Oh, no!”

He grinned. “Works for me.”

She grabbed at the top, but he caught her hand. He kissed her again, a hot open-mouthed kiss as he brushed his chest against her nipples. In less than a heartbeat they were fully erect.

Her nipples weren’t the only thing that was erect, she noticed. His penis jutted into her stomach. He moved against her with a slow yet suggestive rhythm.

Burning hot and moist, Jessica rose up on tiptoe to get his erection where she needed to feel it. A low growl rumbled deep in his throat, and he grabbed her buttocks with both his hands. He lifted her into position until his penis nestled against her crotch.

She arched forward, tilting her hips to meet his. He ground against her and she moaned softly. Lordy, what a turn-on. She might just climax any second.

She slipped her hand beneath the elastic band of his swim trunks and clutched his erection. It was hot and hard with a velvet smooth tip.

“You want it?” he asked, his words low and husky.

“Yes, oh, yes.”

He peeled off her wet bikini bottom and dropped his trunks. With one powerful thrust, he was inside her. Her back braced against the door, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

The next few minutes became a blur of primitive, raw sex. In a few seconds her world fractured in a cataclysm of pleasure so powerful it purged any rational thought.

Gasping for air, she clung to him until he abruptly stopped pounding into her. He threw his head back, grimacing as if he were in pain.

She dropped her legs and he slowly lowered her to the floor as he pulled out.

Panting, he rocked back on his heels and stared at her with smoldering blue eyes.

“More,” she heard herself whisper.

“Aw, hell … give me a minute.”

“Tag, Tag, where are you?” a male voice shouted.

“Christ!” he growled, grabbing his trunks off the floor.

“Jock needs you. There’s been an accident.”

He was gone—without another word—before she could put on her bikini bottom. The top dangled from her waist. She picked up the T-shirt and pulled it over her head, thinking.

Oh, my God. What had she done?

She’d made love … no, calling it “making love” would be too much of a stretch. She’d had sex—standing up—with a man who was practically a stranger.

“There’s nothing you can do about it now,” she muttered.

There had been an accident, she reminded herself. She might be able to help. She rushed out onto the deck.

“What happened?” she asked the couple from Portland who were watching at the rail.

“There were too many people trying to surf at once. A woman got in trouble,” the man told her.

“Did she drown?”

“No. They’ve got her on the stern. The surfboard hit her. It looks like a broken shoulder. Problem is …”

The rest of his sentence didn’t register. Jessica could see the problem. People were still in the water, some surfing, some hanging onto their boards and floating while waiting to be taken back to the boat.

Just as she had suspected, they didn’t have enough support personnel. Valuable time would be lost before the injured woman arrived at the hospital.

Zoe scanned the article she’d written for tomorrow’s edition. It was going to be a continuing series on the alternative minimum tax. America had no idea what was coming.

The alternative minimum tax had been created to tax very rich people who were getting away without paying any taxes. Soon a tax that was supposed to hit the wealthy would clobber the middle class. It was an unfair, tricky tax. People would have to calculate their taxes twice—once the regular way, then a second time using the alternative minimum tax numbers.

It was going to make accountants rich. People could barely compute their taxes once. Who would want to do it twice?

Other financial columnists had tackled the subject, but their angry sputterings had been confined to business sections. Not everyone read—or understood—the business pages.

That’s why she’d sought Grant’s permission to run the series in the main section of the Herald. This first article had already been picked up by Associated Press and Reuters, assuring her of a wider audience than just the Bay Area.

“Pulitzer,” she muttered under her breath, not daring to jinx herself by saying the word out loud. This was the type of series the Pulitzer jury selected.

She logged on to the layout page to see the news hole where her article would run. Reporters hated the news holes because the number and placement of ads determined how long their articles could be.

“Get over it,” she whispered to the computer screen. Some things you just had to live with even if you didn’t like it. Having worthless parents ranked right up there.

Grant had her in a good spot, page three. People tended to get bored, thinking the really important news was on page one and skip to their favorite sections, when an article ran too far back in the main section.

Her phone rang, and she picked it up, still looking at the screen and calculating the number of column inches she had been allotted.

“It’s me. I’m home.”

“Jessica?” Zoe swung her chair away from the computer terminal. “Why are you back early?”

“I got the story.”

Zoe picked up on something in Jessica’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Let’s talk about it at dinner.”

“Okay,” Zoe said. It was Thursday, the night the three of them got together. “Stacy and I have appointments at five for a Brazilian wax. Let me call LeFleur Spa and see if I can get you in. Afterward we’re going to Brio for dinner.”

“I thought we were waxing our legs,” Jessica said when she arrived at the spa and realized they had appointments to have their pubic area waxed. “I’m not sure—”

“Everyone’s doing it,” Zoe said. “Men go wild over it.”

“Since there isn’t a man in my life, that isn’t an issue.” For a moment she thought about Tag and wondered how he would react. She quickly tamped down the thought.

“Didn’t you know what a Brazilian wax was?” Stacy asked. “You’re always so up on new trends.”

“I missed this one.”

“Wanda’s the best Brazilian waxer on the West Coast,” Zoe said. “They send the Playboy jet for her every other week so she can wax the Bunnies.”

“Ladies, into the treatment rooms,” Madame LeFleur, owner of the spa, told them. “Strip from the waist down.”

Jessica reluctantly walked into a small room with an examining table and a rolling work station filled with containers of herbs and lotions. She wasn’t sure she wanted a hairless crotch, but decided if it was such a hot trend, she needed to know about it.

She removed her slacks and thong, her mind on Kauai. She’d made certain she didn’t see Tag on the return trip. The minute she got to her bungalow, she packed, and left for the airport.

What had she been thinking?

A white-coated, hulking person strode into the room. “I’m Wanda.”

“Jessica,” she said, not certain if this was a woman or a man in drag. Around San Francisco, all bets were off.

“Lie down on the table. I’m going to spray you first. It’ll keep you from feeling anything.”

Jessica stretched out on the table and stared at the ceiling where ‘RELAX’ had been written in bold letters. Wanda spritzed Jessica’s crotch with something very cold.

“This will feel warm,” explained Wanda as she painted Jessica’s pubic area with a mixture that looked like butterscotch.

Jessica stared at the “relax” sign while Wanda applied strips of white cloth over the wax. She tried not to think about facing Marci tomorrow at Warren Jacobs’s funeral. Jason preferred Marci and it bothered Jessica. This wasn’t as bad as losing Marshall had been, but she still had to admit it hurt.

“Ouch!” she cried as Wanda ripped off the cloth, removing the wax and with it the hair beneath.

“Stand up,” Wanda ordered. “Touch your toes.”

Jessica rose. “You’re kidding.”

“Of course not. This is the Brazilian part. How do you think they wear those dental floss bikinis? Touch your toes.”

Jessica bent over and let Wanda repeat the cooling spray, then the wax treatment. Toes on the nose. Touch your toes.

Life was strange.

“Are we having fun yet?” Jessica asked as they toasted with glasses full of pinot grigio at the restaurant an hour later.

“I’m as smooth as a baby,” Zoe said. “I’m going to try it out on Don tomorrow night.”

Jessica gazed at Zoe. “Don? He must be new.”

“Yes. I’m trying to make up my mind. Just one life. So many men—and so few who can afford me.”

“You’d better be careful,” Jessica warned. “There’s a serial killer running around.”

“Don’t worry. Rupert will protect me.”

Stacy giggled, her burnished copper hair gleaming in light from the votive candles on Brio’s tables. She turned to Jessica, her expression concerned. “Is something wrong?”

How could she explain? She was angry with herself, but more than that she was perplexed. What she’d done was very out of character.

“I had sex with a guy I hardly knew.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Zoe said.

“Things happen on vacation,” added Stacy. “There isn’t enough time to get to know someone.”

“What was the guy like?” asked Zoe. “Is he the musician with the meltdown kiss?”

“Yes. He’s a surfer, too. A jock whose brother owns the resort.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Stacy said. “It’s just sex.”

“It was the best orgasm I ever had. It happened”—she snapped her fingers—“like that just after we got started.”

“Really?” commented Zoe. “It always takes me a while.”

“I like a little oral sex to get going,” Stacy said.

“It usually takes me some time,” Jessica admitted. “I guess I went without sex for too long.”

“This guy sounds pretty hot to me.” Zoe grinned at Jessica. “Stop worrying about it.”

“We did it standing up,” Jessica said, “in a back cabin on a boat.”

“Variety is good.”

“Standing isn’t my favorite position, but it’ll work,” Stacy added. “You should hunt this guy down and do it again.”

Jessica shook her head. “Trust me, this is a going-nowhere guy. Great sex but no brains to speak of.”

“Then let it go,” Stacy advised.

“It’s hard to let go when you’ve had unprotected sex with a stranger.”

“You didn’t use a condom?” asked Stacy.

“It happened too fast. I didn’t think about it until it was over.”

Zoe shook her head. “That’s not like you.”

“I’m going to need to get an AIDS test.”

“You should, but odds are you’re okay,” Zoe said. “They have the Oraquick HIV test available at the West End Clinic. It just takes a drop of blood and you have the result in fifteen minutes.”

Duff had told Jessica about the rapid HIV test when it obtained federal approval last year. She never thought she’d need to take it.

“What about all those other sexually transmitted diseases Duff is always writing about?” she asked.

Stacy touched her arm. “This calls for a trip to your gynecologist.”

“Immediately,” Zoe added.

“What if I’m pregnant?”

Zoe gasped. “Do you think that’s a possibility?”

“Well, if I was trying to have a baby, it was the right time.”