was to stay away from Lindy as much as possible. Remove himself from temptation, so to speak. Because, damn it all, Lindy Kyle was one hell of a tempting morsel. Her young, firm body was ripe and it had been too long since he’d had a woman. Every time he was in the same room with her, he felt the charge of electricity arc between them. Until today, he’d been able to deal with it, and now he was purposely exposing them to God only knew what.
He wanted to be angry with her—needed it to dilute the effect she had on him. When she’d admitted she’d lied, he’d felt a reassuring irritation surging up inside him, rough and heated. As far as he was concerned, women weren’t exactly known for their integrity. Although disappointed in her, he’d made a conscious effort to control his ire, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to blow up at her.
And then she’d told him about turning down the job, her clear brown eyes soft and filled with contrition for having misled him. Her eager, young face had been as readable as a first-grade primer. She’d stood before him, so forthright and honest, and he’d felt something deep and fundamental move inside him. Before he’d even known what was happening, he’d offered to take her to dinner.
It was more than that, too. Steve’s letter had finally caught up with him, explaining what had happened to Lindy. The poor kid had been through a lot. Apparently she’d been deeply in love with this Paul Abrams, and she’d been crushed when he’d broken the engagement. Rush had been crippled by emotional pain once himself. He knew from personal experience how devastating letting go of a loved one could be.
After reading his friend’s long letter, Rush’s opinion of Lindy had altered. Not that he’d made any dyed-in-the-wool assumptions about her before the letter’s arrival. The fact was, he chose to think of her as little as possible. But after reading what Steve had written, he’d discovered that he admired Lindy for picking up the pieces of her life and forging ahead despite rejection and defeat.
Something else Steve had mentioned had strongly affected Rush. Throughout everything, Lindy hadn’t shed a tear. Her entire family continued to worry about her because she was taking everything far too calmly, holding up much too well. It wasn’t natural, Steve had claimed, sounding very much like the concerned older brother he was. Almost grudgingly, Rush found himself appreciating Lindy’s courage and unsinkable pride. Not so long ago he’d been left to deal with the trauma of a lost love. He could still remember the pitying looks sent his way after Cheryl. The effort and control it had demanded on his part to pretend nothing was wrong, that losing Cheryl didn’t really matter, had drained him. When all the while, every breath he drew had been a reminder that he’d been a fool to ever have trusted the woman. And worse, to have loved her.
Rush could identify with Lindy’s attitude all too well. He would have walked over hot coals before he’d show his pain to anyone, friend or foe. Apparently she felt the same way. Maybe that was the reason he found himself wanting to spend more time with her, looking for a way to be her friend.
A Michael Jackson song blared loudly from the pizza parlor’s jukebox and, much to her surprise, Lindy found herself tapping her foot to the music and wanting to snap her fingers. Rush sat across the booth from her, looking more relaxed and at ease than she could ever remember seeing him. A tall, frosty pitcher of beer rested in the middle of the table.
Lindy had already downed two thick mugs of ale and was feeling the dizzying, warm effects of the alcohol. Rarely had she tasted better pizza, and she’d pigged down three enormous slices, astonishing them both. Now she felt content and happy, two states of mind that had been sadly lacking in her life recently.
“If there was a big enough floor space, I’d want to dance,” she told Rush, who instantly looked relieved—no doubt because he’d chosen a restaurant without one. Lindy giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“You!”
“I’m glad you find me so amusing.”
“Don’t take it personally. It’s just that it feels so good to sit back and relax like this.”
“That amuses you?”
“Yes, because you look like you’ve just been granted a pardon from the governor because you don’t have to dance. And something else.”
His dark brows shot up. “There’s more?”
“Oh yes. For the first time since we met, I don’t feel I have to keep my wits sharpened around you.” She said it with a smile, hoping her good mood would cut any sting from her words. “In case you didn’t know it, Rush Callaghan, you can be one hell of an arrogant jerk. Imagine posting a schedule to use the bathroom!”
His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched in mock consternation, and still he looked every inch the sturdy, capable naval officer she knew him to be.
“There are a few truths about yourself I could enlighten you with as well, Lindy Kyle.”
“Perhaps,” she conceded.
He was teasing her and Lindy found herself warming to him. When he chose to, Rush could freeze out an Eskimo with one piercing glare. She hated to think of the men on the Mitchell facing his wrath because, although she hadn’t seen it in full force, she’d witnessed enough to know his anger would be formidable. Discovering this gentler, fun-loving side of his nature had been an unexpected surprise.
Still smiling, Rush stood and threw a couple of dollars onto the table. “Come on, let’s get out of here before someone pushes aside a few tables and starts up a band.”
Lindy laughed and reached for her sweater and purse. Rush’s hand lightly touched the small of her back as he guided her out of the restaurant. “So you really aren’t going to take me dancing?” she asked, once they were outside in the cool June air.
“Not on your life.”
Lindy released a slow, expressive sigh and glanced up into the dark, warmth of his gaze. A small taste of excitement filled her, and some of the heavy feeling that had weighted her heart for so many interminable weeks lifted.
“Would the lady consider a walk instead?” Rush said, his voice oddly tender, indulgent. He lifted his hand and rested it against her shoulder, his touch amazingly light.
Lindy had the impression that he’d rather not have his hand where it was, but that he couldn’t help himself, and she waded through a surge of elation. It was marvelous to feel like a woman again, and she was highly aware of her power, however fleeting.
They strolled toward the busy Seattle waterfront, weaving in and out of the crowds that lingered on the sidewalk. The air was clean and fresh, smelling of tangy salt and seaweed, and although the sun had set, the gentle breeze carried with it a pleasing warmth.
Rush bought them coffee from a seafood bar and they silently walked along the pier, staring at the lights from the ferryboat as it glided across the murky green waters of Puget Sound.
“Can I see the Mitchell from here?” Lindy asked.
“No. It’s in the shipyard in Bremerton, which is all the way across the Sound.”
“You really love the sea, don’t you?”
Rush’s fingers momentarily tightened their grip on her shoulder. “Yes, I do. Did Steve ever tell you I was born on a ferryboat?”
“No.”
“I think my destiny was cast then. My mother named me Rush because they were hurrying to get her to the hospital in time. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how one chooses to look at it, I was born on the water.”
“And have been at home there ever since,” she added in a soft whisper.
He nodded and their eyes met in a brief exchange of rare understanding. Rush continued talking, telling her a little of his youth and his early days at Annapolis. He made a striking figure, leaning against the edge of the pier, Lindy noted. He paused and smiled down at her. His eyes narrowed briefly with appreciation and it was as if they had become two different people for this one special