Jill Sorenson: Crash Into Me

“Who is she?” he whispered.

“How should I know?” Carly whispered back.

“She saved your life.”

“I didn’t catch her name while we were drowning.”

“Maybe she’s your guardian angel.”

Her response was an unladylike snort, her apathy so honed to perfection that he almost bought it.

“Why did you go out there? Really? Were you thinking about-”

“No! God, why does everyone think I’m freaking out over Mom? I’m not.”

“Carly?”

“Yeah?” She rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance.

“I love you.”

For a moment, he had her, the old Carly, the girl who smiled at him radiantly, hugged him spontaneously, and loved him unconditionally. Then her eyes became shuttered, and that girl was gone. “I know,” she said carefully, as if his love hurt her.

He turned his attention back to the stranger, for this Carly would retreat if pressed, and he couldn’t bear to see her slip any further away from him than she was right now. “Should we wake her up?”

“Hell, yes. I won’t be able to sleep with some random person in the house.”

“Why do you think she’s random?” he asked, adopting Carly’s word for strange. He was irritated by her lack of gratitude, but he was also curious, and the woman was unusual.

“Just look at her.”

In repose, she looked cute and cuddly, like a fuzzy kit fox or a wolverine cub, the kind that would mulch your arm into shreds if you reached out to pet it. He didn’t know how he knew she was ferocious, but he did, and for some reason it endeared her to him. She also must be strong for her size; pulling a person out of the undertow isn’t easy. Before she’d changed, he couldn’t really tell what she had going on underneath that scratchy blanket, but he’d caught a few glimpses of something…curvy. Now her body was swallowed up by his loose jeans and oversized sweatshirt.

His gaze wandered back to her face.

Ben wasn’t the type of man who noted the color of a woman’s eyes, unless he was looking into them, and only then if he was trying to get her into bed. Hers were so striking he remembered them with perfect clarity. So light they should have appeared colorless, but didn’t. They were strange, ice blue, electric. Hot and cold at the same time.

And her skin was warm. Especially now, in front of the fire. Her hair was drying in straggles around her face, hair the color of warm honey, like her skin. And her lips-

“Dad.”

“What?”

“Are you retarded? You’re staring.”

He dragged his attention from the sleeping sylph. “What would have happened to you if she hadn’t been there?”

Carly didn’t want to answer, so she shoved at the stranger’s shoulder, waking her abruptly. “Here’s some tea,” she said, pushing a cup into her hand.

Something dangerous flashed in the woman’s light eyes, and for a second, Ben thought Carly was going to get a well-deserved faceful of Earl Grey. Then it was gone, as if he’d imagined it, and she accepted the tea with a tentative smile.

“We’d give you something stronger, but Dad’s an alcoholic, so we don’t keep any hard stuff around.” When he glared at her, she blinked innocently. “Well, it’s true.”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Summer,” she replied.

“How old are you?”

“Dad!”

Summer laughed. “Old enough to know better.”

“Know better than what?” Carly asked.

“Than to fall asleep in a stranger’s home,” she said, casting Ben an amused glance. When their gazes locked, a warmth passed between them, as though they’d shared a secret.

Taking a sip of tea, she turned to Carly. “How are you feeling?”

“Me? I’m fine.” She studied her sock-covered feet, probably ashamed she had refused clothing to the person who had saved her life.

“Thanks for the tea.”

“Dad made it,” Carly allowed.

Summer’s eyes met his again, over the rim of the cup, and his pulse thickened. “It was my pleasure,” he said with a slow smile.

Carly jumped to her feet. “He thinks you’re pretty,” she blurted.

Summer sat up very straight, running a hand through her disheveled hair. It had dried in clumpy locks that were sticking up in some places and smashed flat in others. “I’m not,” she said ruefully.

Carly nodded, almost impolite enough to verbalize her agreement.

They were both blind, Ben decided.

Summer peered down into her empty teacup, as if she might find some leaves down there to chart her future course. “I should go,” she said.

“No,” he protested, too loudly, rising to his feet.

Carly’s sleek black eyebrows drew together.

“I mean, you’re…you don’t even have any shoes on,” he said.

She shrugged. “I’ll find them on the beach.”

“I’ll drive you,” he offered, desperate to extend the visit. There was something about her. He didn’t believe in angels, but he was unnerved by her, and it had been so long since he’d felt…anything.

“No,” she said. “It was nice meeting you-Carly.” She tasted the name on her lips, smiling as if she liked it. Then she looked at him expectantly.

“Ben.”

He stared at her mouth, waiting for her to test his name out the same way. “Good-bye,” she said instead, glancing at Carly.

“Bye,” Carly said, offering a tight smile.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said, willing Carly into silence with a pointed glare. Amazingly, she complied.

Behind Summer’s back, he mouthed “Thank you” to his daughter.

She said You’re welcome by flipping him off.

The tide was going out, not coming in, so her jeans, shoes, and cell phone were all where she’d left them on the beach. Ben looked out across the water, a grim expression on his face. To his trained eye, the undertow couldn’t have been more apparent.

“Does your daughter know about currents?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“A lot of people can’t discern them from the shore.”

Ben let out a heavy sigh. For him, and most surfers, all of the elements of the ocean were discernable at a glance. Not seeing a rip current would be like ignoring the water, or being unaware of the sand. “I think I’ll lock her in her room until she’s thirty.”

Sonny smiled, because he sounded serious. “I’ll give you back your pants, but I need to borrow your sweater, if you don’t mind. Mine got swept away.”

“Keep it,” he replied absently.

Since his sweatshirt covered her to midthigh, and he wasn’t looking anyway, Sonny dropped trou right there on the beach, stepping out of his jeans and into her own. By the time she zipped up, he was looking. She folded his jeans and returned them, still warm from her body, finding something unbearably intimate about the gesture.

They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment, the pounding of the surf the only sound in the dead of night. Then her cell phone rang, breaking the mood, and she was so flustered that she almost said, “Vasquez,” ruining her cover.

“Hello?” she answered instead.

“Sonny?”

“Yeah, it’s Summer,” she said, in case Ben had radar hearing, and tipping Grant off she wasn’t alone.

“What the hell were you doing? I was worried.”

“I’ll call you later,” she said, clicking her phone shut and pocketing it.

“Who was that? Your boyfriend?”

“My boss,” she said, surprised by the invasive question. “He can be a nuisance.”

“Want me to take care of him for you?” he teased.

She studied his broad shoulders, his athletic musculature. She could take him down in less than three seconds. “I can take care of myself.”

The hint wasn’t subtle, so he would have no trouble picking it up. Still, he made no closing remark.