Wicked Nights. Anne Marsh

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       5

      PIPER RODE HER Harley down to the Pleasure Pier. A little sugar, a little fun. That was what she needed after her unwelcome call with Del had torpedoed her afternoon, and the Pleasure Pier was perfect.

      Built more than a hundred years ago by one of Cal’s enterprising island ancestors, a man who’d decided to combine beer sales with fish sales (pure genius, in Piper’s opinion), the pier stretched out into the bay, living up to its name. The piles were painted the green of Doublemint gum and winked with white lights. The place stayed true to its roots, selling fishing licenses and fresh fish. The occasional angler parked on the edge, trying his luck in the water below before hauling the catch over to the weighing stations and a dusty wall of old photos of oversized, prizewinning marlin and swordfish, and successful fishermen. For the less fish-inclined, the pier sold saltwater taffy, ice cream and churros. An old-fashioned lemon-yellow swing ride lit up the far end by the beer kiosk.

      A beer and candy sounded perfect, followed by a half-dozen, gut-churning rides on the swings. She wanted to fly through the air, leaving the day’s problems behind her. Ten minutes later, she traded in five bucks she should have been saving and acquired a fistful of paper tickets and a bonus bag of taffy. She’d passed on the beer, after all—she had the Harley, and some chances she wouldn’t take.

      The swings slowed, riders stumbling away, laughing. Kids shrieked while their parents snapped photos, creating a scene that was loudly happy and all chaos. Perfect.

      “Hey, Lenny.” She greeted the ticket taker, offering him the bag of taffy. Lenny had worked on the pier for as long as she could remember. Like the ride itself, he looked a little older each year.

      “Haven’t seen you in a while.” Lenny poked through the bag, looking for the red-and-white taffy, like he always did. “Got your favorite swing all ready for you.”

      “Perfect.” She laughed. Her feet flew to the bright red double swing she always rode. Deliciously garish, with over-the-top gold trim covering every edge, and faux rubies hot-glued to the sides, her swing winked at her just as enticingly now as it had twenty years ago. It also had the most lift of all the swings on the ride, or so she and her brothers had concluded after a summer of experimenting. She’d ridden it ever since.

      She settled in, waiting for the ride to fill up. The sky was dark now, with plenty of stars peeking through the clouds. She’d always meant to buy one of those charts and learn their names. She tracked one glowing blob and debated if the slowly moving light was a comet or a shooting star. Her knowledge of astronomy was sadly lacking. She’d seen a shooting star once, a bright flare and a quick descent. The flash of red was her first clue that celestial milestones weren’t in her future tonight. Her “star” was a plane. Nope. She’d better not count on a career as an astronomer.

      And...darn it. Despite her careful planning to not think about Cal or the bet she had impulsively proposed to him, Mr. Tall, Dark and Glum himself stood there on the pier, dogging her from the shadows. The Pleasure Pier wasn’t his kind of scene. She had a hard time imagining him fisting a bag of taffy and riding the swings until he was deliciously seasick. Cal was too responsible, too...something else. On the other hand, if she accidentally fell over the pier because she was too dizzy, he’d be the first one in to save her.

      He watched from a distance, giving the impression there was an invisible space bubble or do-not-cross police tape surrounding him. The pier’s usual evening crowd flowed around him obediently. He’d changed out of his suit, looking more familiar in his usual faded blue jeans, T-shirt and work boots. His long, lean legs were stretched out slightly in front of him as he leaned against the pier’s railing, the ocean at his back. And, God, his eyes...she liked his watchful, heated gaze far too much for comfort. She had no idea why he was here, but as long as he stared, she was staring back.

      So screw it.

      Flip him the bird or crook her finger? Oh, the choices... Grinning, she flipped him the bird. He tipped his head in silent acknowledgment and then slipped away into the shadows.

      She pushed down the strange pang of disappointment. She might not like Cal, but baiting him was almost as much fun as eating taffy and riding the swings. He had better things to do than stand there and watch her. Of course.

      She’d been kissing СКАЧАТЬ