In Too Deep / Matched
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Nicola watched Kiki’s eyes following someone behind her. “Dev Stone just walked in,” Kiki said under her breath. “Just another day at the office.”
Nicola could have cared less, but she caught a glimpse of him in the reflection of the bar’s mirror all the same. Hair raked back, careless swagger, a gaggle of groupies in tow. Vomit-inducing. She was just about to say so when she caught sight of another face among the entourage: the diver she’d rescued.
Nicola groaned. This island was much too small, and the scene was so fucking typical that it made her stomach turn. “Don’t look now, but it’s Mr. Z-lister himself,” Nicola told Kiki. “I guess we’ve unearthed whose star he’s hitched his ride to. I have to get out of here.” She slid a twenty across the counter and stood up.
“Total asshole,” Kiki agreed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Never mind that he’s a hot asshole.”
Nicola rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t deny the twinge she felt in her nether regions at the memory of their brief encounter this morning. After everything that had happened, how was that even possible?
“Love you,” Nicola said to her friend, and then she was gone.
“You should try the lobster,” the woman beside Alex urged him, not even attempting to be subtle about pressing her breast against his arm as she leaned toward the dish. “It’s unreal.”
“Thanks, I’m good,” Alex responded dully, leaning away from her just as unsubtly.
Lobster. He’d seen a whole pod of them today on the dive. It had been amazing to see them all piled together with their antennae waving at him in slow motion—before it all went to shit and he decided he was Poseidon, king of the goddamn sea.
“Hey,” Dev said from across the table, the first word he’d spoken to Alex since they’d been seated. As he watched, the woman on Dev’s left reached for a platter of plantains and started refilling her master’s plate. Alex refrained from rolling his eyes. “How was the dive?”
“Fantastic!” Alex forced a smile, then glanced over his brother’s shoulder toward the adjacent bar to check for any new arrivals. He’d been doing this since they sat down in the restaurant an hour ago, just hoping she might walk in. Just hoping he’d have the chance to apologize and thank her the way he should have in the first place. But there was no one new—just the same lineup of bodies seated at the strawberry blonde’s bar that had been there since they arrived.
A sharp knife of regret twisted in Alex’s gut. He’d acted like a fool. Sure, he’d been furious and terrified, but how could he have let his pride get the best of him like that? He rubbed a hand over his stubbly face. “Hey, you know what?” he said to Dev, pushing his chair away from the table. “It’s been a long day, and I need to get some sleep. I’ll see you back at the house, okay?”
Dev looked taken aback. “Sure, man, whatever you want.”
Alex excused himself and looked around for their waiter. He knew his gazillionaire brother was accustomed to paying—even expected to pay—for everything all the time. Dev wouldn’t even check the bill when it arrived. But it was the principle of it that mattered to Alex. Just as he’d refused Dev’s offer of the private jet, he would pay for his own meals and any other expenses that arose when they were together. Letting his brother give him a free ride only enforced the shadow Alex had lived in his whole life—especially after Dev’s first album took over the charts when he was just twenty years old.
The waiter was nowhere to be seen. Sighing deeply, Alex made his way over to the bar and leaned forward on his elbows. The strawberry blonde bartender was inches away from him, but instead of offering him a drink, she picked up a bar mop and started slowly wiping down the already clean countertop.
Alex cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
“Oh.” She rocked back coolly on her heels. “Did you need something?”
“Just hoping to pay my bill. I can’t find my waiter.”
She tapped a button on the iPad that was sitting on the bar. “Table twelve? Mr. Stone has a credit card on file.”
Alex reached into the back pocket of his shorts and pulled out his wallet, then took out a hundred and laid it on the counter. “Then please just put this toward it,” he said. He was about to walk away when he caught himself and spun back toward her. “Hey,” he said, giving his fists two quick raps on the bar. “There’s a dive instructor that works at the scuba shack…blond hair, greenish eyes—”
“Male or female?” the bartender interrupted with a lift of her eyebrow.
“Female.” And hot as hell, he wanted to add.
“Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell,” she replied with an exaggerated upturn of her palms, then returned to her cleaning.
Alex stared at her. It was so obvious she was lying that it was almost funny—she wasn’t even trying to hide it. Which could only mean one thing: that she and his rescuer were friends, that his rescuer had already spilled the story and that somehow the bartender had figured out that he was the guy who’d made it all go down. God only knew what an asshole this woman must think he was.
“Listen,” he said. “I did something really stupid today, and I owe that woman a serious apology. I get it if you’re protecting her. But as her friend, think about this—would you rather she went to bed tonight feeling shitty, or feeling like a hero? Because she was my hero today, and I really need to tell her that.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow. You’re good.” She reached under the bar and slid a piece of paper across to him. “I’ll give her a note.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WEDNESDAY MORNING. NICOLA awoke around five thirty to the sound of tropical birds chirping loudly outside her window. Above her bed, her skylight was a dark orange square of light streaked with purple. She tossed and turned for a while, considered getting up—someone still had to walk to the gas station for a jug of gas, and she guessed it wasn’t going to be Kiki—but then she fell back into a light sleep filled with strange, twisted dreams. An hour later she woke up feeling foggy and out of sorts.
Today would have been Nicola’s second day back at school. She imagined another teacher in her old classroom, organized exactly how Nicola had liked it with her hand-lettered alphabet cards circling the dry board. She thought about twenty faceless children sitting before her, those little sponges who, for eight years, she’d taken so much joy in helping discover their worlds. Then she pictured the faces of her students from last year, stopping to hug her as they bravely made their way to their second-grade classroom.
And Oliver. Sweet Oliver who talked a mile a minute, whose imagination was more intense and whose curiosity was more boundless than any child she’d ever known, the kid who’d stolen her heart from day one with his earnest questions and spontaneous hugs. And the same kid who’d start digging his pencil into his skin when he became bored, who’d physically lash out at his schoolmates and at Nicola herself when he felt overwhelmed.
A severe case of ADHD. Nicola knew the symptoms, had grown up seeing them in her own mother every single day. Her mother hadn’t known it because times were different then. But now that Nicola had encouraged her to get treatment, she couldn’t help but wonder at how different things might be if her mother’s condition had been managed earlier. Not just the instability and poverty that marked her childhood because her mom had had trouble holding down a job, but the calling Nicola felt as an adult to help others in similar circumstances. Would she have still stepped outside her professional boundaries to help Oliver? If not, everything that happened stemming from that one decision—the first photo with Matthew released by Celebrity Life, the paparazzi camped on her doorstep, the one piece of dirt the press was able to dig up on her, and the hurtful accusations from parents and coworkers—might never have happened. But it had, and as a result Nicola had had to leave behind everything she knew and loved.
A month ago Nicola had turned thirty. Teaching scuba diving on an island of celebrities, no matter how idyllic it might appear, was not the life she’d planned for herself at this point.
You have to stop this line of thinking, Nicola scolded herself. Such thoughts could only lead to one thing, and she never wanted to go back to the place they brought her to again. She simply couldn’t afford to exist in a world that dark.
Determined to get her day off to a better start, Nicola rolled over in bed—and came face-to-face with her open laptop on her nightstand. Three tequila shots in quick succession were never a good idea, but when combined with Google they could be downright regrettable. A little drunk and still reeling from the dive mishap—and him—she’d broken down and searched Matthew’s name last night for the first time since she’d moved here. What she’d found hadn’t helped her mood. Her screen had filled with the latest news—that his wife had filed for divorce because “their marriage hadn’t been able to take the strain of Matthew’s alleged affair with elite private-school teacher Nicola Metcalfe.” That his wife was asking for spousal support and full custody of their only child, Oliver.
Nicola had felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She understood why celebrities flocked to this island. There were no tabloids or newspapers for sale at the gift shop, and here you could choose, if you wished, to exist without the internet and TV. The very famous were trapped in a hell of their own making that elicited zero sympathy from the public. Only by association, Nicola had lived that hell for six endless months, and it had nearly destroyed her. She couldn’t imagine what it must be to have the world judging her every word, move and decision—to fuel the voracious appetites of the masses for failure and hope and mistakes—simply by existing.
Heavy thoughts for a beautiful day. Trying to shake off her mood, Nicola tied her emerald robe around her and went into the bathroom to shower and brush her teeth. Her phone was sitting on the vanity. Since moving to Moretta, Nicola had become decreasingly reliant on it, sometimes leaving it at home for an entire day without even noticing it missing—something inconceivable back in her old life. But really, who was going to call her? She’d been shocked at how many of her friends had jumped ship when the scandal went down. Which was another reason she loved Kiki, loyal to the end.
Nicola brought her screen to life to see a text from Kiki. It had come in at around ten thirty last night, long after Nicola was fast asleep.
Z-lister just left you a note. Want me to take a picture of it?
Great—just what she didn’t need to improve her mood.
So what was up with that little flutter in her belly?
After showering and getting dressed in her usual work uniform—today it was a white bikini, pink terry shorts and a gray tank top—Nicola went into the kitchen with coffee on her mind. There was a piece of folded paper on the counter next to the coffee maker.
The note.
What could he possibly have to say for himself?
Nicola unfolded it and read: You saved my life. I acted like a complete moron. Would you accept an apology drink? Alex 555 873 9921
It was tempting. Nicola could still see his aqua eyes, the lines of his muscular shoulders, how he’d looked at her on the road yesterday morning…but no. Anything beyond a drink would prompt her conscience to reveal the truth about why she was here—or rather what she’d run away from to land here—and that was a complication Nicola didn’t need.
She crumpled up the note and tossed it into the recycle bin.
From the back pocket of Alex’s swimming trunks, his phone signaled an incoming text message. He made a grab for it, but it was just another work message from back home—still nothing from one of the two people he really wanted to hear from right now.
Fuck. It was only day two of his trip, and the whole thing was already off the rails. He’d managed to get John Brissoli’s cell phone number last night from a contact of his brother’s, who’d made Alex swear on his life he wouldn’t reveal his source. The contact said he’d heard Brissoli was staying at the Palms Inn, the island’s one hotel, and Dev said he’d never even heard of him. The guy was like some mafia hitman instead of a dude who’d started a website. In any case, Alex’s voice mail and text messages to him had both so far gone unacknowledged.
Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Alex strode from the scuba shack toward the tiny gravel lot where several golf carts were parked. He didn’t want to wait for her by the shack because this was a conversation that needed to happen in private, but there was nowhere else to wait without looking like a goddamn loitering creep. He was silently weighing his options when he saw her coming toward him.
She was in a golf cart this time, her hair blowing in the wind as she navigated the bumpy road. Beneath her gray tank top her breasts bounced gently. Seeing her like this, still unaware of his presence, relaxed and completely unconcerned about her looks, Alex thought she was more beautiful than ever. She looked strong and capable, and yet there was something about her that made him want to protect her from harm. Which was of course completely ridiculous, given that she’d had to rescue his ass yesterday.
The moment was too good to last. The second she laid eyes on him, her expression turned to one of flat indifference. She parked the cart, grabbed her satchel off the seat and strode toward the beach to avoid him.
“I acted like an asshole. You have every right to hate me.”
She stopped in her tracks, then turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Why would I hate you? I don’t even know you. I’m sure that underneath it all, you’re no worse than any other hotshot with a bruised ego.” She resumed walking, so Alex had no choice but to hurry after her. He got in front of her but she wouldn’t stop, so he started walking backward. He still had the lingering sense that she was familiar, but that wasn’t possible. Though she was as beautiful as any actress, she was quite obviously a scuba instructor and not a celebrity.
“I’m sorry. It was unforgivable of me to not at least thank you. You got a really bad cross section of the worst part of my personality. Under other circumstances, you might even like me. My name is Alex, by the way. Like I said in my note, I was hoping I could take you for a drink. Unless you’re, uh…otherwise attached.” He tried a smile, but she wasn’t biting.
“You’re about to hit a tree,” she said, brushing past him.
He turned and came face-to-face with the bark of a palm tree. They were almost at the shack now, and he sighed as he watched her disappear into it.
Okay—she gave him no choice.
Alex walked over to the pile of gear he’d assembled earlier and stepped into his wet suit, leaving the top hanging down around his waist. Then he picked up his gear and started carrying it over to her boat.
He was on her boat. She saw him when she started walking toward it with a tank in each hand. To her annoyance, she felt a happy little lift in her chest. She squashed it down and scowled at him.
“I think you’re on the wrong boat,” she said, swinging the tanks onboard.
“I’m afraid I requested you. You’re the best instructor here, and if there’s anyone who needs help, it’s pretty obvious it’s me. I promise you can let me drown this time if I misbehave.”
She couldn’t help the tiny grin that came to her lips. He was self-deprecating and funny; she had to give him that. And courageous for going back in the water after an experience that would scare many off diving for life. Not to mention that the way his wet suit clung to his impressive build—and the bulge between his legs—wasn’t lost on her.
So was that all it took for her? A few cute throwaway lines and all was forgiven?
“Fine. But stay above fifty feet to keep from narcing again. And you’re with Zach.” She nodded toward her colleague, who was busy casting dark looks at Alex from the stern of the boat.
“You’re the boss.”
On the ride out to their destination of Camel Rock, Nicola occupied herself with checking the oxygen levels on the dive tanks and checking their O-rings, a job that she knew would have already been done by whoever filled them this morning. It wasn’t just that it was awkward having him on the boat—being around him made her feel like a nervous teenager. She couldn’t stop the flutter in her belly and the heat she felt in her cheeks when she caught him watching her from his seat on the bench. Those eyes—he was looking at her like she was a freaking ice-cream cone, and the truth was she’d like nothing more than for him to put his tongue in all her sweetest places. It was a weird reaction to have to someone who’d made her life hell twenty-four hours ago.
But then again, nothing had really felt normal since he’d shown up.
“Have a drink with me tonight,” Alex said to Nicola as they got off the boat. This was his last try. If she refused him now, he’d have to accept defeat gracefully if he didn’t want to risk coming across as a groveling stalker.
She looked at him dubiously, but she didn’t shut him down—at least not immediately. She knelt down and started disconnecting her first stage from her tank.
Having just completed his first successful open-water dive, Alex realized that he owed this woman for more than just saving his life the day before. After what happened, he was quite certain he never would have gotten in the water again if he hadn’t been driven to go after her—and he’d done it. He’d fought against his fear and won. The reef they’d explored today was possibly even more beautiful than the one he’d seen yesterday, but Alex had been more intrigued by his view of her than of the fish. He couldn’t help it—the way that dive suit stretched over her figure made her look like the hottest Bond girl ever. Alex didn’t get it. He’d always kept a cool head around women, but somehow one whose name he didn’t even know had gotten under his skin.
“Listen. I don’t even know your name, and that’s going to make for a very bad story when I tell it back home. I’m Alex. Did I mention that already?”
“I believe you did. Nicola,” she said, swinging two more tanks onto the dock.
Alex was impressed—the things weighed a ton, and even though she was slender and feminine she lifted them with ease. He reached out for one of them, his fingers brushing against hers. “Can I give you a hand with those?”
“I’m good.” She paused, finally turning to face him. Her eyes pierced through him, sending a charge through his body. “It’s okay. You’re forgiven, all right? I get that you were under a lot of stress. But I really don’t—”
“I almost drowned when I was five,” Alex blurted out. Her eyes widened, and he shook his head. He’d never told this story to anyone, and here he was about to lay it on a practical stranger. “In the ocean. My mother told my brother to watch me, but he got distracted.”
“That sounds awful,” she said carefully. “How old was your brother?”
“Ten. And already a rock star—in his own mind, anyway.”
Her brow furrowed and then cleared. “Rock star.” She grinned. “Dev Stone is your brother.”
He shrugged. “I guess someone had to get stuck with the job.”
She nodded slowly. “I’m tutoring tonight. Eight o’clock at Pablo’s.”
“Great! I’ll see you…”
But she was already walking away, her long, tanned legs making him ache with every move.
CHAPTER FIVE
“AND IF YOU take the seven away, you get nine. See that?” Nicola flicked her hair behind her ear as she scribbled on her notepad.
Raia smiled slowly in the way she always did when she was starting to comprehend something big, and Nicola grinned with her. Then she stole a glance at her watch. She loved tutoring her students more than anything, but tonight she felt jittery. It was just a drink, she kept reminding herself—not even a date. For all she knew, he could be leaving the island tomorrow. She didn’t have to tell him a single thing about herself—least of all the thing that had brought her to Moretta. They’d have their drink, maybe share a few laughs, and then go their separate ways feeling better about what had gone down yesterday.
Except she knew that she was lying to herself. She wanted him, and she could tell he wanted her. Just standing close to him on the dock this morning had made her insides turn to gelatin. When his fingers had brushed against hers, she’d felt a jolt that fired directly to the spot she desired him most.
Nicola closed her workbook and gathered up her pencils. “You did great tonight, Raia. Keep working on your subtraction, and next week we’ll do some reading.” As she stood and reached for her handbag, she noticed Raia staring at her.
“Are you getting married?”
Nicola couldn’t help it—her eyes widened. “Am I what?”
The girl shrugged. “Getting married. In Winx, the girls always look fancy when they’re getting married. And you look so pretty.”
Nicola placed her hand on the girl’s head. “Thank you, Raia. That’s very kind of you.”
Pretty.
Nicola was about as into false modesty as she was into inflated celebrity egos; she knew she had the ability to turn some heads. But as she walked toward her golf cart, she realized how little she’d actually thought about her looks since arriving on Moretta. In LA she’d had a closetful of cute clothes that she wore to work, and had fun experimenting with different hair and makeup styles. But here it was a bikini every day, her hair seemed almost constantly wet and she’d had to actually search for her makeup bag this evening. Out of the four stylish dresses she’d brought to Moretta, she’d chosen a soft gray bamboo one that clung to her figure without being too obvious, paired with strappy silver sandals.
As she fired up her cart and started driving toward Pablo’s, she wasn’t sure if she was afraid she’d dressed too sexy or not sexy enough.
Alex drummed his fingers against the table and checked his watch. 8:06. He’d give it another four minutes before he started worrying she was going to be a no-show.
He glanced around the restaurant, taking in the open-air bar—free of the strawberry blonde bartender tonight, he was relieved to see—the casual island decor and the perfectly clear water surrounding the pier his table sat upon. Behind him the indigo sky was streaked with shades of orange and pink. Everything about the atmosphere screamed, relax, you’re in paradise! But Alex felt anything but relaxed.
He turned back to his table to check his phone, and his breath stopped.
She was standing right in front of him, waiting for him to acknowledge her. He was quite certain he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Her dress, though anything but showy, revealed the perfection of her curves. Her blond hair lay in soft waves against her shoulders, and the small amount of makeup she wore intensified the color of her eyes. Her heart-shaped lips, free of lipstick, shone with a slick of gloss that made him want to bite and kiss them for hours.
“You look incredible,” he finally breathed, getting to his feet. He had meant to pull her chair out, but she beat him to it and sat herself down.
“Thanks,” she said with what seemed to be a touch of self-consciousness. She gave him a small smile that made the blood rush straight to his groin, and then she lowered her eyes again.