A Man to Remember Read online

  A Man To Remember

  By Mary Tate Engels

  Published by Mary Tate Engels at Amazon, all rights reserved.

  Copyright 2013, Mary Tate Engels

  Cover by www.digitaldonna.com

  This eBook is a work of fiction written for your personal enjoyment. It may not be resold or given away. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination.

  Bristol Bordeaux, badass babe. . .

  No moon lit the dark, misty night as Bristol Bordeaux, extraordinary investigator, slipped along the shadowy waterfront. She stopped for a brief second, listening, and shivered as a cold gust of air whipped around her skirt. Yes, someone was following her. A man, by the way his heels pounded the walkway. She scooted into the next doorway and pressed her slender body flat against the warehouse wall.

  She could hear his staccato footsteps pausing, then continuing. Faster. Louder. Closer he came. After her.

  Bristol looked around frantically for an escape. The door behind her was locked tight; the water in front of her was black, icy cold, and shark-infested. There was no place to hide. She backed farther into the corner, trying to blend with the shadows. Hoping he wouldn't see her.

  Now he was just around the corner from where she stood. Closer. Louder. Faster he came. She could hear his heavy breathing.

  Her heart pounded hard, pulsing blood and adrenaline throughout her trembling body. She slipped her hand beneath her skirt and up her leg to her thigh. Her fingers closed around her only weapon. The small .25-caliber Beretta felt cold and hard in her hand. There was no other choice.

  She waited for him, now calm and sure.

  The man came around the corner. He halted as if sensing she was there. Knowing without even seeing. Then his bulk lunged toward her. There was no time to think!

  Instinctively Bristol squeezed the trigger.

  The explosion was deafening, and multicolored stars lit the black—

  "Alyse!"

  Alyse Skye, ordinary citizen, jolted back to the present. To the boat. To Mexico. To Evan. To their endless arguments. Oh, God, why had she come down here with him?

  "Alyse, where the hell are you?"

  "In here." Adrenaline still pumped through her as she vicariously experienced Bristol Bordeaux's predicament. The fear. The panic. The solution. Alyse took a deep, calming breath.

  Evan stepped down into the cabin, his square-jawed countenance angry. Always angry. "You reading that stupid mystery stuff again?"

  Alyse withdrew. "Yes." The Breathless Adventures of Bristol Bordeaux fell to the floor, and another argument ensued.

  Chapter One

  La Paz, Baja Sur, Mexico

  He trained his binoculars on her as she moved across the sleek deck of the Skye Command. His lips curled into a ruthless grin' He couldn't let her get to him. He had too much at stake. His life!

  He had watched her for two days. Watched them. Ever since he'd been told they were Americans and would be returning to the United States soon. From a distance he had evaluated their yacht and decided it would be perfect for his needs. At this point, though, almost anything would do.

  The Skye Command was a thirty-foot coastal cruiser with galley and sleeping quarters below. Accommodating, yet not too big to maneuver. Sleek, yet rugged enough to make it in high seas if necessary. Perfect for his needs.

  He had already decided that one member of the young pair would have to go. At first he'd considered paying off the woman and flying her back stateside. But the more he watched them, the more he thought the man would be the easier target. He was arrogant and thoughtless. They argued a lot. And the woman was hot. She could be useful.

  The man with the binoculars looked almost golden in the late-afternoon sunlight. Tawny, tousled hair strayed haphazardly in the breeze, and unshaven amber bristles fringed his squared jaw. First glance would label him unkempt, but a closer look would reveal a rugged handsomeness beneath his shabby facade. An unrelenting gleam lit his brown eyes as long, tanned fingers adjusted the dials to focus on her. He continued to watch the couple, but especially focused on her.

  The two on the boat had argued, and she left the craft. Again. That seemed to be her way of dealing with the unpleasantness. To walk away.

  She wore nothing but a red bikini, small triangles pressed against the most intimate feminine parts of her body. Strings held the crimson triangles together; strings over her bronze shoulders and around the curve of her back; strings tied at the tops of her slim hips. I'd like to grab those strings and jerk!

  Her legs were incredibly long. Sexy. Oh, yes, she was a definite turn-on to the golden man with the trained binoculars.

  She walked rapidly, angrily, down the wooden pier, her high-heeled sandals clomping on the planks. When she reached the wharf's end, she hopped down to the pure pale sand with a certain grace and agility. The simple action revealed something about her background. She'd had athletic training. Perhaps in dance. Or gymnastics.

  She paused long enough to remove each sandal, then marched off barefoot through the sand. At first her strides were long, purposeful, full of the vigor of anger. One hand dangled the shoes while the other swung naturally beside a slender, string-tied hip. Her rear was a pair of taut muscles, well honed and patched with a red triangle.

  The golden man raked a hand over his face, lingering to scratch the amber stubble on his chin. Oh, God, the imagination's going wild! Don't let her get to you! Don't forget your purpose.

  As she continued to walk, the late afternoon sun dropped lower in the sky, reflecting yellow, then red, then deep purple on her figure. Eventually, the vigor of anger seemed to diminish. Her stride shortened, slowed, then became ambling, a woman relishing the sand beneath her bare feet. In a worshipful stance she faced the western sun, then turned eastward to the stretch of teal water in La Paz Bay. A breeze kicked up, caressing and tossing her dark hair around her shoulders and across her face.

  God, how I'd like to touch that!

  Slender, exacting fingers fumbled to adjust the focus on the binoculars as she moved farther away. His thoughts were wild. It was crazy to be jealous of the wind. To imagine how her footsteps felt on the warm sand.

  The sun's last rays glistened on her shoulders, her back, her hips and legs, massaging away the anger, leaving tight, eager muscles. And frustration. She paused again to look out over the bay. Delaying.

  The golden man mentally talked to her. Okay, you've calmed down. Now he'll talk to you, reason with you to do his biding. Now he'll come to you. Can't you see he's a first-class jackass?

  As if she could hear the thoughts of the mysterious man who watched her, she glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes settled on the Skye Command as it bobbed in the shallow water at the dock, occasionally bumping against it. She turned back to the bay and kicked up a spray of sand before continuing her aimless trek. The punch was gone from her step, from her body. She seemed defeated.

  Now, he thought, focusing again. Go to her now, you jackass! She's ready to listen. Don't you know anything about women?

  In response to the golden man's thoughts, the arrogant one she'd argued with left the yacht and headed away from her, toward town. He walked rapidly along the street and entered the first bar he came to.

  The rugged golden man focused his binoculars back on the young woman. She stood motionless, her body aimed toward the water, as if drinking in the moment's peace, storing it up for a later time. Just before the sun slid behind the low mountains to the west, it formed a beckoning, shimmering path across the water.

  The man who watched felt alternately chilled, hot, then cold again. Strangely he was drawn to the beautiful young woman with a desire as strong as any he'd ever felt. It rocked through him, urging him to go
to her.

  No! His brain screamed. Leave her alone! There's no time for this.

  He looked back at the bar where the arrogant, angry man was just finishing his first drink and ordering another. You cowardly bastard!

  Then he realized that this situation could actually make his job easier. Perhaps he could make this lover's estrangement work for him.

  The golden man began to move, impelled by a force beyond his ability to resist. Take it easy! You'll ruin everything!

  His long golden legs moved him forward in spite of inner objections. Dammit, you're crazy!

  He reached the pier and stowed the binoculars in his shoes beneath the end. He shed his shirt and, wearing only khaki shorts, strode barefoot across the same warm sand where her feet had dug. He watched her hungrily as she walked slowly, aimlessly near to the water's edge. Occasionally tiny white waves curled over her feet, then receded quickly, leaving hard, wet sand.

  She seemed not to notice how close he was to her.

  Familiar, peaceful ocean sounds washed over them. The gentle slap of water against the sand. Distant gulls crying, swooping in, sailing out, wailing in the wind. The tangy smell of salt water and fish hung in the air. Somewhere far away a boat's horn belched.

  In his mind, they were all alone in the world, the long-legged woman, the golden man, and the sea.

  This is damned dangerous. Don't do it. Turn around now.

  But he couldn't. He moved closer still, ignoring the rage beneath his chest. He was close enough now to hear her sigh. With a quick intake of salty air he turned away. Calm down, fool. This could be your biggest mistake.

  He shook off the raging doubts and turned back to the bay. And the woman.

  But she wasn't in sight.

  A moment's panic seized him. Where is she? Gone?

  Then he spotted her about twenty feet away, seated on the sand. She'd chosen a gentle protrusion of the beach, a small sandbar peninsula where water curled gently around her on three sides. The sight of her silhouetted against the pinkish sky was breathtaking.

  Leave now! Before it's too late!

  But his body defied sensible reason. He cleared his throat as he moved beside her on the peninsula.

  "I know you're there," she said without looking around.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?" He'd never been good at small talk. Or raw beginnings.

  "This is my favorite time of day. Sunset." Her voice was crisp but not unpleasant. She had no particular accent or voice cadence. Well educated, probably from California, he deduced quickly from her brief remarks.

  "When the water's calm and no storms are brewing, it's soothing this time of day." Sounded dumb, but he didn't want to halt their conversation.

  "But it's deceiving."

  "Deceiving?" He glanced at her, his brown eyes drinking in her beauty. "How's that?"

  "It can be dangerous out there. Wicked."

  He gazed down at her back, wondering if life was wicked for her. Dark chestnut hair fanned across the loosely knotted strings at her spine, and her hips nestled in two shallow indentations in the sand. "Anything can be dangerous, I suppose. Even things of beauty."

  "Even you?" There was a slight mockery to her voice.

  Grunting softly, he heaved his large body down beside her, fighting to keep his eyes straight ahead on the magenta bay, his mind on small talk. Neither was his style when he really wanted a woman. "Me, dangerous? What makes you say that?"

  "I've seen you around. You've been following me all the way down the beach," she said accusingly, finally turning her full face toward him for the first time. "Why?"

  Seeing her close was jolting, and the golden man felt the inner stirrings of desire for this woman he'd seen only from a distance. Her eyes were surprisingly blue and wide-spaced, giving her an almost innocent look. Almost. Her mouth was generous and naturally crimson. Inviting. Her chestnut-colored hair was windblown with light streaks from the sun. And she wore those damn red patches of a bikini. Hot damn!

  He bent his knee so his leg would hide what he couldn't control. He groped for a reason for following her, something he could tell her. "I found you . . . interesting. Enticing."

  "Well, you're certainly blunt. If you're looking for a piece of ass, forget."

  "Touché, baby. Anyone who dresses like that"—he motioned with one finger—"invites bluntness."

  Her sapphire eyes narrowed, daring him to agree. "We're on a beach. Everyone dresses like this."

  "Well, they sure don't look like you do in that little thing. I was only being honest. I figure you deserve that much."

  "How do you know what I deserve?" She blinked, obviously not expecting that answer.

  "I'm like that. Don't you want your man to be honest?"

  "You are not my man."

  "Not yet," he said with a nod to the boat. "Got to get rid of the jerk first."

  "He's not my man, either."

  "Then what's he doing hanging around?"

  Surprisingly she smiled, her crimson lips spreading slowly. "Yes, I like honesty in a man. And . . . equality."

  "I've already been as honest as I can." He shrugged. "Give me a chance at the equality piece."

  "All right. How would you be fair and equal?"

  "Ah, fair is another matter. All's fair in love and war, as they say." His brown eyes met her blue gaze daringly. "I'd let you make the first move. Would that be equal enough for you?"

  "And what if I didn't make any move?" She chuckled throatily and shifted back on an elbow. Her position thrust one rounded breast against the red triangle, and he could see the prominence of her nipple beneath the material.

  He forced his gaze away from that boob. Something inside him groaned, and he hoped it wasn't audible. "Then I'd give you time. And another chance." He straightened his leg and leaned toward her, also bracing on one elbow in the sand.

  "What if I still didn't make a move?" Her sapphire eyes danced wickedly over his golden physique. Admiring. Belying her saucy response.

  His gaze dropped to her breast and back to her face. He felt sure she'd make some move. She had the look of a responsive woman. "I'd ask you what you wanted in a man. Maybe I could accommodate."

  "Honesty first." She looked at him curiously. "Start with your name."

  "Jake Bronson."

  "Jake Bronson." She repeated it slowly. "I'm Alyse Skye."

  Alyse Skye ... the boat, Skye Command. It belongs to her, not the man in the bar. "Okay, so far, so good, Alyse Skye. What next?"

  "You're obviously American. Where are you from?"

  "El Paso. And you?"

  "San Diego. What are you doing on a beach in Mexico? By yourself." Her meaning was clear: Don't you have a woman?

  "Sometimes being alone is best. It has made it easy for me to watch you as much as I want. I must say, I've enjoyed every minute too. I like what I see." Jake's brown eyes raked over her with relish. Suddenly her expression tightened, and he sensed he needed to back off. Too much, too soon.

  Abruptly she'd had enough of their game. Maybe she was scared of her own response to him. "Hope you enjoy yourself in Mexico, Jake Bronson. It's very beautiful here. Just remember, sometimes the beauty is deceiving."

  She started to rise and he was on his feet in an instant. He touched her arm, helping her up. His hand slid down her arm so that his fingers could wrap around her wrist. He could feel her pulse racing. "Wait Alyse. Now you aren't playing fair. Don't tease and leave. You're very beautiful. Are you also deceiving?"

  Her sapphire eyes met his dark gaze with a touch of trepidation. He couldn't help wondering why. Was she afraid of him? Or afraid of the magnetism between them?

  "I came down here with another man. I'm sure he's waiting for me right now."

  "He's in the nearest bar right now. Getting drunk." Jake lips thinned.

  Her eyes widened. "How do you know?"

  "Told you, I've been watching." He continued to hold her wrist loosely.

  "You're crazy. Let me go."

  "I
don't think you really want to go back to him. You want to sit here on the beach with me, where it's safe, and talk about sunsets and the clear water and . . . equality."

  "I thought you said you'd let me make the first move."

  He took a shaky breath. "Maybe I lied. Patience is not one of my virtues."

  "Then you're like all the rest."

  His voice hardened. "I definitely am not like all the rest. Not like any of the men you know. Especially that bastard in the bar you came down here with."

  "So, you're watching us both? Why?" She scoffed at him. "No patience? I do like honesty in a man."

  "I have other qualities you might like, Alyse."

  She made a low, whimpering sound and slowly freed herself from his grasp. She took a side step away. "I think I know enough about you, Jake."

  He shook his head with a lion-like movement. "You don't know anything about me. Just this unreasonable fear that I might be dangerous. I'll admit I was too blunt. Maybe too honest. And sometimes I'm too spontaneous."

  She folded her arms to hide a shudder. "What about the honesty you claimed? And fairness?"

  "I tried." He shrugged.

  "So did I. But it won't work, Jake. We're both… in a bad place right now. Too complex for anything."

  "Maybe I could help – "

  "No." She wheeled around and walked briskly across the sand.

  "I'd like to see you again. Let's talk." Jake's eyes narrowed.

  She didn't acknowledge his remark, just kept walking away from him. Tiny, glistening particles clung to her hips and the backs of her bare legs. Jake ached to brush them off. "I'll see you again, Alyse."

  He stood impotently and watched her graceful movements. He couldn't help wondering if he'd ruined the plan. He needed that yacht. Soon. And now, crazily, he wanted that woman. Alyse Skye was not someone he could forget easily, and he had no intention of letting her walk away from him. But could he honestly wait until she made the first move?

  Chapter Two

  Lights from the city of La Paz spread gloriously below him, reminding Jake of El Paso and the city view from his home. Glittering dots twinkled in the darkness, gathering in a C-shaped curve along the bay. At home there was no stretch of water, only the shallow Rio Grande separating the United States and Mexico. Tonight he felt a long way from reaching U.S. soil and safety.