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The door at the Blue Moon led to a narrow alleyway that culminated at a boardwalk leading down to the sand. The beach at this hour was deserted except for a lone figure walking along the high tide line about a hundred yards south. Karma.
He jogged to catch up with her. As he approached, she wheeled around, startled. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. Her hair stood out around her face and seemed to snap and crackle with energy. He thought he had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.
The breakers were rolling in at a fast pace, giving rhythm to the night. This part of Miami Beach seemed far away from the hoopla of South Beach night life.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, stopping dead in her tracks.
He thought he saw the tracks of tears dried on her face, but perhaps he was mistaken. “I came to offer my services,” he said.
Karma started to shake her head, but on the off chance that she wouldn’t object, he captured her face between his hands. “Or rather,” he added, captivated by the confusion this brought to her eyes, “the services of my boat.”
“I don’t need—” but she stopped talking in midsentence, all the better for him to explain.
“So you can scatter your aunt Sophie’s ashes,” he said gently, moving his head closer and tilting it into kissing position.
“How did you know about that?” she breathed, and her breath was sweet and soft upon his lips. Her eyes were deep and unfathomable, and she didn’t pull away.
“When a person opens himself up and begins to receive energy, all sorts of things happen,” he murmured, and then he kissed her.
As soon as his mouth touched hers, he wanted her. He wanted her with all the passion and depth of a man in full pursuit even though he warned himself again that she wasn’t his type. Yet the image of her nipples straining against the fabric of that brief top she’d worn to yoga class was burned into the part of his brain that governed reason and good sense; he wanted her. Perhaps this lustful feeling was the ultimate expression of the energy he was experiencing?
Slowly his lips explored hers, and before he knew it his tongue was seeking new territory and his hands were tangled in her hair. She was a full participant, her tongue meeting his, her teeth nibbling at his lower lip, her hands pressing against his back to draw him closer.
When she pushed him away it was with less conviction than he had expected.
“You’re a client,” she said, the words approximating a gasp of passion. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“If you’d like, I’ll resign as a client,” he said. “I could be just plain Slade Braddock, man on the loose.”
She braced her hands against his chest and shoved, forcing him to take a step backward.
“More like Slade Braddock, man on the make,” she said.
“Anything wrong with that?” he asked amiably.
“You’re supposed to go out with Jennifer on Friday night.”
“She told me. What if I don’t want to go?”
“That will get me in trouble with Jennifer, not to mention Goldy, who is her aunt. Don’t do that to me, Slade.”
“Goldy is the one who told me you might be on the beach.”
“She may not know that Jennifer has dibs on you.”
“I have free will. I can see—or not see—any woman I please. So do you want to go out in the boat with me or not?”
“A houseboat isn’t something you’d take out to sea,” she said, casting a look in his direction. He didn’t know the meaning of that look, but it was definitely not one that said go away, so he kept walking along beside her.
“Toy Boat has a dinghy,” he told her.
“So you’re planning on rowing out to sea? That’s not advisable, you know. The waves can get pretty big offshore.”
“Maybe it isn’t called a dinghy. I don’t know because I’m not that experienced a boater. It has a motor.”
“And what strings are attached to this offer?”
“Absolutely none. Maybe while we’re in the boat we could talk about freeing me up. Maybe we could talk about freeing you up.”
He saw her rolling her eyes. “I’m as free as I want to be,” she said. She swiped at her nose with a tissue that he hadn’t realized she carried in her hand, increasing his suspicion that she’d been crying.
“Maybe that’s the problem. You need to feel attached to someone,” he said hopefully. She could be lonely, he supposed. She could be shedding a few tears because she had no one to walk with on the beach on a beautiful and romantic night such as this one, which could play into his purpose really well.
“I don’t think I want to be attached in the way you’re thinking about.”
“Perhaps you need to free up your chakras, all seven of them. Have you ever thought about giving yourself permission to feel, Karma?”
She shot him a skeptical glance.
Realizing that this line of discussion wasn’t going any further, he changed the subject. “How far do we walk? When do we turn around and go back?”
She seemed on the verge of smiling when she looked up at him. “Why? Too much exercise for you, cowboy?”
“Not at all,” he said firmly, wishing suddenly that she could observe when he and Lightning, his prize quarter horse, were cutting cattle. She’d see that he was a superior athlete, an experienced horseman. He was out of his element in sea-sand-sky territory, that’s for sure.
“I usually stroll to the next lifeguard station, then head back. You’re welcome to go back now, if you like. These walks of mine are usually solitary.”
“Too bad,” Slade said.
“Not really. Solitude is good sometimes.”
“Karma, when a woman looks like you, acts like you and kisses like you, there’s no reason to be alone.”
She emitted an exasperated sigh. “Maybe I want to be alone. Maybe I like it that way.”
“And maybe I’m the king of Siam, but I don’t think so.”
“I don’t think there is a king of Siam anymore. For that matter, there’s not a Siam anymore. It’s called Thailand these days.”
“You get my point,” he said.
They had almost reached the lifeguard station, and Karma slowed down. She drew a deep breath before speaking. “I know what you were looking at in yoga class tonight when I was doing that backbend, and I might as well tell you that unless you concentrate on being centered, you’re not doing your blocked chakra any good.”
He turned back toward the Blue Moon when she did and wondered what she would do if he kissed her again. He decided not to chance it. “I believe I feel my chakra becoming unblocked,” he said, not believing that he was actually speaking these words that flowed so easily from his lips. “I feel a certain—a certain—” He struggled to think of something that would convince her that he was making progress.
“A certain letting go?” Karma supplied.
He grinned and punched a fist into his opposite hand. “That’s it! A ‘letting go’!”
“Maybe it is working. Maybe you are getting better. Backbends are good for releasing emotion.”
She walked on, a frown marring her features. “You’ll have to keep doing yoga. It will help you dramatically.”
Maybe his muscles would stop screaming out in agony by next Tuesday night, maybe he’d be able to twist himself into a damned backbend—a real one this time, not a weak imitation.
“I should practice,” he said. “Other than backbends, I’m not sure what poses would be best, though, so perhaps you could help me.”
“No funny business if I do,” she said firmly.
“What do you mean, funny business?” he replied, all innocence.
“Kissing me,” she said. “Becoming unduly familiar.”
“Now wait a minute. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.”
“If I’m going to find you the wife you want, you can’t sully the process,” Karma said in a reasoning tone.
He didn’t know what to say to that. The kind of wife he wanted had slipped his mind. The sweet, delicate little Southern-belle type didn’t seem so desirable anymore. He knew he should ask when he could view some videos of female Rent-a-Yenta clients. He knew he should be more eager to make contact with other women. He ought to be encouraged by the thought of having a date with Jennifer. And yet when he stole a glance over at Karma walking along beside him, when he took in that curly blond mass of hair and those breasts straining against the cotton of her blouse, when he thought about what had been revealed through those lace panties when her leggings split—well, she was the one he wanted to know more about. She was the one for him.
At least for the short term.
When they reached the boardwalk, he stopped to pull on his boots. As if against her better judgment, she waited for him.
“How about if I pick you up Thursday afternoon at three to scatter your aunt’s ashes?” he asked, taking the bold approach.
She looked down at her bare feet. “I don’t know if I can be ready by three. I have work to do in the office.”
“Three-thirty, then.”
“Well, only if you learn how to motor that boat.”
“I’ll learn.” Slade finished pulling on the boots and stood up. At the moment that he was ready to slide his arms around her, she stepped up on the boardwalk. It was an evasion, but he wasn’t going to let her get away with it.
“Not so fast,” he said, the words coming out more gruffly than he had intended. He grabbed her wrist, the handiest thing to grab, and twisted her around. His heart was thumping against his ribs as he pulled her close. He’d bet his last dollar that her heart was hammering, too.
“Slade,” she said, the word more of an assent than a denial. And then he kissed her thoroughly, liking the way her head was on a parallel with his because of the increased height standing on the boardwalk gave her. If she were tiny, like the woman he’d come here to find, kissing her wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying. As it was, when he opened his eyes they were gazing directly into hers. He liked what he saw there because it wasn’t anger or defiance or anything but a kind of hushed acceptance of what was and maybe could be.
He released her reluctantly and dug a paper out of his back pocket. “I brought you my psychological profile,” he said. “It, um, may give you clues to my emotional identity.” He wasn’t sure what an emotional identity was, exactly, but it was the kind of term Karma would use.
She merely stared at him, then took the sheet of paper from his hand. It quivered a bit, and not entirely from the ocean breeze.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, and then she was off, scampering up the boardwalk like a runaway heifer.
All in all, he thought jubilantly as he headed for the parking lot, the evening had gone tolerably well. Except for yoga class, and even that had had its redeeming features.
Like lace panties that left little to the imagination.
HE KNOCKED ON KARMA’S DOOR at three-thirty on Thursday afternoon. She opened it, clutching a flyswatter in one hand.
“I’m chasing a palmetto bug,” she said, leaving the door open and taking off into the tiny kitchen, which he could see courtesy of a pass-through to the living room.
He closed the door. “I learned how to run the boat,” he called after her. His words were followed by a loud Splat!
“Good,” she said distractedly. “Damn! I missed it.”
“Didn’t I hear something about an exterminator service around here?”
“Yes, which is personified by a guy named Geofredo. He’s tried his best, and now the exterminating is up to me. The thing about palmetto bugs is that you can’t treat them nicely. One becomes two, which become four, and pretty soon you’ve got a bunch. It used to be against my core beliefs to kill anything, but I’ve had a change of heart.” She flicked the flyswatter back and forth.
“Why?”
“Because this particular roach and his kinfolk were waving their feelers at Aunt Sophie’s bucket,” Karma said, angling her head toward it. The bucket sat on top of the refrigerator amid a tangle of dish towels, a blender base, a potato ricer and a tape deck.
“Fear not. Bwana will hunt down palmetto bug. Bwana will kill.”
Karma shook her head. “Thanks, but this is my fight. If he’d only show his face, I’d nail him.”
“I think I see him poking out from under the baseboard.” The palmetto bug—an enormous one—scurried across the kitchen floor, straight toward Karma.
“Eek!” she squealed, backing fast and furiously until the back of her knees hit the couch. She rallied, feinted, and swung the flyswatter down hard.
“Dead,” she pronounced solemnly. She scooted the carcass out the sliding glass door with one foot. “How about some lunch?”
He rocked back on his heels. “It’s not the most appetizing idea at the moment. Anyway, it’s a little late for lunch.”
“Call it an early supper if you like. I haven’t eaten because I’ve been busy trying to balance my checkbook all day.” She went into the kitchen and began shoving pots around on the stove. “I’ve made linguine,” she called over her shoulder. “With shrimp sauce.”
He noticed with bemusement that she had set the table with turquoise-blue place mats and yellow plastic plates. There were napkin rings that looked like carved fish painted red and pink, and she’d stuck a branch laden with white oleander blooms into an old wine jug. The effect was, well, interesting.
He sat down at the table, and she bore a huge platter of pasta into the little dining area. While he was waiting for her to pour iced tea, he had a chance to look around the apartment. Furniture consisted of what appeared to be flea-market finds, but it was a creative mix. An old couch had a fringed silk shawl thrown artistically across the back, and a shelf on one wall held bottles and jars in jeweled colors, which were lit from within by tiny Christmas tree lights. A coir rug was underfoot, and his sharp eyes didn’t miss the fact that the binding was ripped in the corner behind the rocking chair that almost, but not quite, hid the imperfection from view.
“Nice place,” Slade said. He meant it. It looked comfortable and reflected Karma’s personality.
“Thanks. I hit a dozen yard and garage sales when I arrived here. I didn’t move much down from Connecticut with me since I wasn’t sure I’d stay.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged and sat down across from him. “I didn’t know if I could make a go of the business. I still don’t. There’s so much to do that I hardly have time for anything but work.”
She passed him the linguine, and he helped himself. “As busy as you are, you wouldn’t have had to provide food,” he said.
“It’s the least I can do when you’re going to so much trouble for me.”
As she tucked into the food, he studied her. She was wearing a knit short-sleeved polo shirt, yellow, and navy-blue shorts, and her hair was pulled into a ponytail. She looked wholesome, like a camp counselor, but her expression was decidedly businesslike. Taking his cue from her, he concentrated on eating and making small talk, which turned out to be enjoyable enough. He told her that her bike had been retrieved from the bottom of the bay, and she seemed relieved. She was even grateful when he told her that he’d asked the marina manager’s son to make sure it was rideable and to fix it if it was not. They talked about her uncle, who seemed special to her. It occurred to him as he helped her clear the table that he was really enjoying her company.
By the time Karma climbed into the Suburban beside him clutching the bucket of her aunt’s ashes firmly between her breasts, Slade had already planned what they would do when they returned from their task. They’d have a late dinner on the houseboat, then a walk in the moonlight alongside the bay and perhaps a nightcap before he took her home. And maybe, if he got megalucky, he wouldn’t have to take her home. There was plenty of room in the master stateroom’s bed for two people.
The runabout, fourteen feet long, was painted in the houseboat’s colors and had been given the cutesy name of Toy Boat’s Toy, which was no doubt the idea of Mack’s wife Renee. Karma smiled when she saw the name lettered on the stern, though, and then she spotted her bike, which he had propped against one of the pilings near the houseboat’s mooring.
