Chapter 7
The contraption was green, a cross between a golf cart and a pickup truck. Maris learned later that it was called a Gator, but she had never seen one before Parker Evans nodded her toward the one parked outside Terry’s Bar and Grill. He invited her to get in.
Still reeling from the shock of finding him in a wheelchair, she did as he requested and climbed into the passenger seat. She kept her head averted as he used his arms to lift himself onto the driver’s seat. Then he leaned down, folded his chair, and swung it up into the shallow trailer.
The Gator had been reconfigured for him. The brake and accelerator were hand-controlled. He handled the vehicle with an ease that comes from practice as he steered it away from Terry’s and headed it toward the dock.
“I can take you only as far as the ramp,” he said. “It’s too steep for my chair. I’d make it down okay, but I might have trouble stopping and would wind up in the drink. Which you probably think I deserve.”
She said nothing.
“But even if I didn’t go hurtling into the sound, I couldn’t get back up the ramp on my own.”
Maris was at a complete loss. “Ramp?”
“Down to the dock. Where you left your boat.”
“I don’t have a boat. I paid someone to bring me over.”
“He didn’t wait to ferry you back?”
“I didn’t know how long I’d be here. I told him I’d call.”
He brought the Gator to a stop, looking displeased that he wasn’t going to shake her as soon as he thought. His shirt was chambray like Mike’s, except that the sleeves had been cut out of Parker Evans’s, revealing muscled arms that compensated for the limitations his legs imposed. Those muscles went to work as he pulled the steering wheel into a sharp turn.
“Shouldn’t take a boat long to get over here. Terry will call for one. You got the number?”
“Couldn’t we talk for a while, Mr. Evans?”
He braked the Gator again. “About what?”
“Look, be obtuse on somebody else’s time. I’ve come a very long way—”
“Without an invitation.”
“You invited me when you sent me that prologue.”
He registered mild surprise over her snappishness and raised his hands in mock surrender.
She took a moment to collect herself, then continued in a more conciliatory tone. “It’s been a very long day for me. I’m tired. A hot bath and cool sheets sound wonderful. But I’m here, so I’d like to make this trip worth my time, trouble, and expense by having a civil conversation with you before I leave.”
He folded his arms across his chest in what she supposed could be viewed as a civil gesture. But it also looked smart-alecky, and that, she thought, was probably closer to his intention.
Doggedly she continued. “You sent me your work. You meant for me to read it or you wouldn’t have sent it. Despite your claims to the contrary, you want this book to be published. I publish books. We could work together. You don’t even have to meet me halfway. I’ll go three-quarters of the way. In fact, I believe I already have by coming here. So could we please have that conversation?”
Despite his arrogance, he had a disconcerting way of staring. His expression was inscrutable, giving no indication of what he was thinking. He could have been seriously weighing her arguments or planning to toss her out of the Gator and letting her swim back to the mainland. One was as viable a guess as the other. Or he might have been thinking neither.
Taking his silence as permission for her to continue, she did. “I know it’s rather late in the day to be talking shop, but I promise not to take up too much of your time. Mike said he would—”
“I know what Mike said. He called me at Terry’s after you left the house. He’s acting like a complete fool.”
“He didn’t strike me as a fool. Anything but.”
“Ordinarily, no. Ordinarily he’s levelheaded, calm, cool, and collected, the voice of reason, a goddamn pillar of sensibility. But you’ve got him in a dither. He’s tearing around straightening up the house, fixing supper, acting like an old maid about to receive her first gentleman caller.” His eyes were shadowed, but she could tell they were moving over her. “You must’ve laid on the charm double thick.”
“I did nothing of the sort. Mike is just a nice man.”
He barked a harsh laugh. “Unlike me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well,” he drawled, “you just as well have, because it’s true. I’m not at all nice.”
“I’m sure you could be if you wanted to.”
“See, that’s the kicker. I don’t want to.”
Then, before she could prepare herself, he reached across the space separating them, hooked his hand around the back of her neck, and yanked her forward, bringing her mouth up to his. It was more an assault than a kiss. Hard, grinding, insistent. His tongue stabbed at the seam between her lips until it forced them apart.
Making angry sounds of protest, she pushed against his chest, but he didn’t stop. Instead he continued to plumb her mouth forcefully as his lips twisted upon hers. Imperceptibly the thrusts became slower and gentler, more exploratory than invasive. His thumb stroked the underside of her chin, her cheek, and very near the corner of her lips. Her anger shifted into distress.
When he ended the deep kiss, he rubbed his lips against hers lightly before breaking contact with them, and even then they remained close, merely a breath apart. Only after he let his hands fall away did he pull back.
Maris turned her head away. She stared out across the water of the sound. It was relatively calm compared to the choppy currents circulating through her bloodstream. The lights on the shore of the mainland seemed very distant. Much farther than before. Now a world away. She felt strangely disconnected, as though that narrow body of water had widened into a gulf that couldn’t be spanned.
Somewhere out on the sound a boat’s horn bleated a warning. Inside Terry’s, the boom box had been restarted and was playing a wailing song about a love gone wrong. Closer, she could hear the gentle slap of the water against the rocky beach at the bottom of the steep ramp that Parker Evans was unable to navigate in his wheelchair.
“It won’t work, Mr. Evans,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to flee in terror of you.”
She turned then to look at him and was surprised by the absence of smugness in his expression. He didn’t look contrite or apologetic, either, but he wasn’t wearing the triumphant sneer she had expected. He was staring at her in the same disconcerting, inscrutable way as before.
“I ignored the vulgarities inside Terry’s, just like I’m going to ignore that kiss. Because I know why you subjected me to that,” she said, hitching her head in the direction of the bar, “and I know why you kissed me.”
“You do.”
“I’m calling your bluff.”
“Bluff.”
“You kissed me to scare me off.”
“All right.”
“ ‘All right’?”
“You can think that if you want to.” He held her gaze for several seconds, then put the Gator into forward motion. “Did Mike happen to mention what’s for supper?”