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Carla felt a tightening in her stomach. Although she’d held these feelings deep inside since childhood, she had never verbalized them. She wasn’t sure she was capable of expressing them now. “A good example of what I’m saying happened when I was about ten. Our family went to a friend’s wedding reception. Everyone had been drinking, and an uncle had given some of the teens spiked punch. The minute Dad walked in the room the temperature dropped fifteen degrees.”
“Were they afraid he was going to make a scene?”
“I don’t know. But I do recall how uncomfortable everyone was.”
“Including you?”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
“But that’s not all, is it?” he asked gently.
“No,” she admitted. “It was far more than that. I can count on one hand the number of Christmases Dad spent at home. It was the same thing every holiday. And we were lucky if he was there for our birthdays. It got so that I’d dread it every time the phone rang, because I knew he was always on call. It was his job.”
“I don’t blame you for resenting that.”
Once started, Carla discovered she couldn’t stop. “He worked with the scum of the earth: pimps, muggers, murderers, wife beaters, and child abusers. Then there were the sick people, dying people, dead people, addicts, and prostitutes. Sometimes he’d come home at night and—” She stopped, realizing that everything had come out in one huge rush. When she’d caught her breath, Carla continued. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to unload on you like this.”
“You didn’t,” Philip said. “You’ve never told your father any of this, have you?”
“No. What was the use? Dad loves his work.” Philip’s hand cupped her shoulder. He was comforting her, and in a strange way Carla appreciated it. Never before had she voiced these thoughts, and the fierce intensity of her feelings had surprised her.
By unspoken agreement, they turned back toward the hotel. The sky had grown dark now, and the lights from the long row of hotels dimly lit the beach. Other couples were walking along the sandy shores. A few flirted with the cresting ocean waves.
“Philip.” Carla stopped and turned toward him. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“What for?”
Their eyes met in the moonlight, and Carla was trapped in the silvery glow of his gaze. Those beautiful, warm gray eyes held her as effectively as the arms that slipped around her waist and brought her into his embrace.
“I may never drink anything but margaritas again.” His whisper was husky, but he didn’t make a move to do anything more than hold her. His arms pressed her gently as he rubbed his chin across the top of her head. A mist-filled breeze off the ocean had ruined her carefully styled hair; now it fell in tight ringlets around her oval face.
Her hair was another thing that endeared her to Philip. Not once had he mentioned its color. Men invariably teased her about it, asking if her temper matched the color of her hair. The only time it did was when someone made tiresome remarks about it. Not red and not blond, the shade fell somewhere in between. Red oak, her mother claimed, like her grandmother’s. Like russet potatoes, her brother suggested. The color of her hair and her fair complexion had been the bane of Carla’s existence.
“Would you like to go for a swim?” Philip asked, dropping his arms and taking her hand. They continued walking toward the hotel.
“In the ocean?” She’d have to get her suit.
“No, the current’s too dangerous. I meant the pool.”
The hotel’s swimming pool was the most luxurious Carla had ever seen. A picture of the massive pool area at the hotel had been the determining factor in their decision to book their vacation at the El Cid. Blue, watery channels stretched all around the hotel, with bridges joining one section to another.
“I’d love to go swimming,” Carla replied enthusiastically. They reached the short flight of stairs that led to the hotel from the beach. “Give me ten minutes to change and I’ll meet you back here.”
“Ten minutes?” Philip arched one brow. Carla had noticed him do that a couple times during the evening.
“Ten minutes—easy,” Carla confirmed confidently. She knew exactly which corner of her suitcase held her swimsuit. It wouldn’t take her more than five minutes to change, so she figured she’d easily have five minutes to spare. But what she hadn’t counted on was that Nancy had neatly stored their suitcases under the beds. Carla spent a frantic five minutes tearing their room apart, certain that they’d been robbed. Finally, she found it. She should have remembered her friend’s penchant for neatness.
Fifteen minutes later, a chagrined look pinching her face, Carla met Philip at poolside.
Pointedly he glanced at his watch.
“I couldn’t help it,” she told him breathlessly, and offered a sketchy explanation as she placed her towel on a chaise longue. The pool was empty, which surprised Carla until she removed her wristwatch and noted that it was after midnight.
She tugged the elastic of the forest-green swimsuit over her thigh and tested the water by dipping one foot into the pool. Warm. Almost too warm.
“Are you one of those women who gets wet by degrees?” Philip asked as he took off his glasses and tossed them on his towel.
“Not me.” She walked to his side, stretched out her arms, and dove in. Her slim body sliced into the water. Philip joined her almost immediately, and together they swam the width of the pool.
