Lola Carlyle Reveals All

“Before you call your father?”

“My father died when I was twenty-one.”

She was silent a moment as the rain pounded against the door and windows. “I’m sorry, Max. How did he die?”

“He was an alcoholic. Believe me, it’s not a very nice way to go.” His father had been the one person Max had tried his hardest to save. Tried and failed, and he didn’t need a psychiatrist to get inside his head and tell him the reason why he lived his life the way he did. Why he risked his own life for people he didn’t know and a government that used him for its own needs. He knew.

“I’ve seen what alcohol and drugs can do to people,” Lola said, breaking into his thoughts. “I know that sometimes there is nothing anyone can do to help.”

Max laughed, more bitter than he intended. “God knows I tried, but nothing I did changed the outcome. When I was growing up, he was drunk most of the time. That sort of life is tough on a kid.”

“What did you do when he was drinking?”

“Now, those are some pathetic memories,” he said. Memories he wasn’t going to talk about. Not with her. Not with anyone. He took her hand from his shirt and brought it in front of him. He shone the light on her smaller hand cupped in his, and he ran his thumb across her palm. The yacht rocked toward the starboard bow, and he turned her hand in his and squeezed. “I played a lot with neighborhood kids,” he added. “When I was old enough, I joined the Navy.”

“Why the Navy?”

Max grinned into the darkness. “I liked the uniform. Thought I could probably get laid if I was in a uniform.” But once he’d joined, he’d set his sights on Little Creek and the SEAL program. He’d fit right in. While in the Navy, he’d earned a degree in political science and business, and he’d been selected to attend the National War College at McNair and was on his way to making commander when he’d been forced to retire.

“Did it work?”

“Yep.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Then he looked into her eyes, the light casting shadows in her hair and across her nose. “I told you I’m a charming guy.”

She managed a weak smile. “Probably not as charming as you think you are, though.”

The tip of his tongue touched the crease of her fingers. “You’re just lucky I can’t show you how charming I can be,” he said against her moist skin.

Her response was cut short by the rise and fall of the ocean and the impact of a wave hitting them amidship. It pounded the windows and rocked the yacht hard on its port side. Max dug his heels into the carpeting and let go of Lola’s hand. He slid a few feet across the floor. Either the bilge pumps weren’t working or they couldn’t keep up. The Dora Mae took longer than before to right herself. The creak and groan of the vessel was more frightening than the howl of the wind. It was time to get serious. Time to let Lola know what they might be in for at any moment. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He crawled to where she and Baby lay on the floor and shone the light close to her face. Her wide terrified eyes watched him. “Lola,” he began as he knelt beside her, “how long can you hold your breath?”

“Why?”

“How long?”

“Maybe a minute.”

“If the yacht capsizes, it won’t sink right away. Find a pocket of air and look for a way out. The galley door will blow in and the windows might break out-go out whichever way is easiest. You have your life jacket on, so once you clear the yacht, you should pop right up.”

“Are we going to capsize?”

“It’s a possibility. The problem is that the yacht is orienting herself perpendicular to the wind and seas. Waves are mainly hitting us port with a few hitting starboard. The thing you have to remember is not to panic.”

“Too late.”

“I mean it, now. When water rushes in at you, it’s going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but you can’t give in to your fear. You have to save yourself. And you can’t save yourself if you panic.”

Her chest rose and fell. “What about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you. When I get to the surface, I’ll deploy the raft and we’ll get inside.” He purposely kept his misgivings about the raft to himself.

“What about Baby? He’ll never make it.” She held her dog tight in one arm and her free hand covered her face.

What she said was likely true, and as if he understood, Baby wiggled out of Lola’s grasp and came to stand by Max’s knee. His little pink tongue licked Max’s pants, then his bare arm. “I’ll make sure your dog gets out alive.” He heard himself utter the ridiculous statement before he could stop it.

Lola raised into a sitting position, and obviously tired of getting tossed on the floor, scooted to the couch and sat with her back against it. “Thanks, Max.”

Her “thanks” stuck in his chest as if it were the fishing knife he’d returned to his boot, and he had to look away. If it wasn’t for him, she and her dog would not be in danger of losing their lives. She’d be at home. Safe in her warm bed. Maybe designing bras in her dreams. “Lola, I’m sorry I got you into this,” he said.

“Me, too. And I’m sorry I burned down the bridge. I’m really sorry I did that.”

The sound of her self-deprecating humor twisted the knife in his chest. It was one of the things he liked her, and with Lola, there was a whole lot to like. More than he’d ever let her know. He picked up Baby and moved next to her. “For a pain-in-the-ass woman, you’re okay.”

“Is that a compliment?”

He glanced across his shoulder at her, at the light shining across her chin and generous mouth. “It was just a statement of fact.”

“Good, because it didn’t sound like that charm you keep warning me about.” The bow rose and Lola scooted closer. “And for an overbearing Steven Segal wanna-be, you’re okay, too.”

He forced a dry “Ha, ha” from his chest. “Steven Segal’s a pussy.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?” She grabbed his hand again and held tight. And when she laid her head on his shoulder, he lowered his face to the snarled part in her hair. She smelled like flowers and the ocean, like a garden growing near the beach.

Lola Carlyle wasn’t at all what he’d expected that first night when he’d seen her driver’s license. She wasn’t flighty or hysterical. She wasn’t a pampered model whose only worth came from how she looked in a thong. She was so much more than that. She was a person who faced her fears head-on and was braver than some men he’d known. She was a survivor-all wrapped up in soft sweet-smelling skin. A fighter.

She was horribly afraid, he could feel it in the death grip she had on his hand, but she controlled her fear. He’d been around too many people who didn’t, not to appreciate and admire her strength.

The Atlantic continued to pound the Dora Mae. Within the dark cabin, Max held Lola’s hand and just listened to the sound of her voice skipping from one subject to the next. She talked about her business, her family, and Baby’s expulsion from dog school. And with each hour that passed, the knife in Max’s chest twisted a bit more. With each minute, he had to fight the urge to take her into his arms and bury his face in her neck. No matter how he tried to ignore it, with every touch and sound and sigh, she carved out his heart.

The yacht listed portside, and there were a few times Max did not think it would recover. He held Lola’s hand as the wind continued to howl. That was it. Just her hand in his, but the touch of her slim fingers and warm palm felt more intimate to him than some of the countless times he’d made love to other women. He continued to hold her hand until the winds died and the sea calmed. Then he held her while she fell asleep against his aching ribs.

When the first rays of morning sun finally touched the windows, he lay her on the floor and placed a couch cushion beneath her head.

Then he went out to survey the damage.

For the second time since she’d stepped foot on the Dora Mae, Lola awoke after a night of hell in which she’d fully expected to die. She heard the galley door open and pushed herself to her elbows. The first thing she noticed was the complete lack of motion. The yacht leaned to the left but was utterly still. Sunlight poured through the windows and over Max’s shoulders where he stood in the doorway. He’d taken off his life jacket.