They fell into step together, barefoot in the teasing wake of surf and foam, the tide rolling out for the evening. And God, he was right, she mused, enjoying the lap of water around her ankles, the soft sand cool underfoot and squishing between her toes.
It was a beautiful summer evening with the light going deep at the edges and stars peaking through a fading canvas of purple and blue. Her eyes lifted to where those colours bled into a needle-thin swath, illuminated by a fiery heart dipping below the watery horizon.
"You did good back there. I'm impressed." He looked down at her, all warmth and admiration. "You stood up for her. No one else was going to, but you did."
"You would have. And not just to back me up. But because it was right," she pointed out and smiled at the dance of long-legged birds raced along the shoreline, skirting around rolling waves or strips of driftwood in search of their supper.
"My biggest fear is that some douche will take advantage of my daughters like that poor, foolish girl in there. It's a scary world. And they won't be kids forever. All I can do is give them the tools to make smart choices and hope to god they don't fuck it all up."
Like I did. The confession sat at the back of her throat and Eva washed it away with a long, sobering breath of briny breeze. Losing herself in that beautiful scent. She loved the smell of the ocean. Loved the sound of rolling waves and the cry of wheeling gulls. Even though she had been born and raised in the large, multicultural city of Toronto, no place that had felt more right then Haven.
"You're just lucky I was there," Marshall said, injecting a bit of humour to lighten the mood with a puff of his chest and flex of muscles
"Please." Slanting her gaze up at him, Eva snickered. "I could take him just as easily as I could take you."
"Oh really?" Marshall said, eyes lighting with challenge. And kicked at the surf, splashing her with water. Laughed when Eva squealed like a girl.
"Jerk," she rounded on him, rolling up her sleeves. "I'll show you."
"Now, now," Marshall warned as she stooped, dipping her hands in the surf. "Don't start something you can't finish." And was struck full in the face with a slap of water. Snickering impishly behind her hands, Eva backed up a pace. And bolted.
But her legs were no match for his and, within three strides, Marshall caught her around the waist and hauled her tiny, wriggling body over his shoulder. Wading out deeper into the shallows, Eva sputtered threats of grave bodily as he spun and spun until they were dizzy.
Disoriented with laughter, between the rush of water and the slip of sand, Marshall lost his footing and they both fell, with him taking the worst of it, landing squarely on his back in the wet sand of the shore and Eva caught in his arms, stretched on top of him. A tangle of limbs and body-wracking giggles.
"Jesus," sides aching, Eva planted her hands on either side of his head so she could look down at him. "The hell is the matter with you?"
And though laughter shone in his eyes, a heat simmered there. Bright and fast, as sudden and dazzling as a bolt of lightening to the spine, the mood between them changed. Shocking the senses, awakening every nerve in her dormant body.
Blood scorched beneath her skin, flooding her neck and face, racing down her arms and legs. Pulsing in her core.
This was dangerous. She knew it. Understood it, but couldn't think. Couldn't move as she took that slow, lazy spin into the primal. Eyes locked, bodies fused, Eva swayed closer. Drawn to him. Sucked into a vortex of want and need and intense longing.
The descent was slow-an eternity trapped within seconds. Sexy. And scary as hell.
She simply stopped breathing.
A breeze skipped over them and she shivered, their clothes wet through to the skin, and that provocative little tremor gave Marshall all sorts of wicked and wonderful ideas. Above them the empty sky stretched, the colours deepening so a thousand upon a thousand stars shone, sprinkled the water and scattered around Eva like diamonds.
"Eva," he said her name soft. A whisper. His gaze descended to her lips. Saw the way they parted, silent with wanting. And muttered, "Hell," before dragging her down, crushing that mouth to his.
She jolted, a shock of need and something else, but didn't pull away. Her damp clothes clung to that tight, little body and gave him a tantalizing hint of the sort of package Ms. Eva Turner had going on beneath the baggy attire. All lean lines and supple curves to round them out.
Snaking his hands up her back, one hand fisted in her shirt, the other around the back of her neck, anchoring her while he plundered and took, until she opened enough for him to savour the first lush taste of her on his tongue.
A ripe sweetness that punched straight through him. Stoking a desire he'd never felt before with an intensity that lit up the world; birthing a storm inside of him, poised to break and consume them both.
Just when he would have pushed for more, rolling her between him and sand, and let that storm whip wild and free, Eva pulled away, rocking back on her knees.
"Wow," she whispered, exhaling heavily. "That got a little out of control."
His heart thundered, his belly seized and all the blood in his body pulled away from his head leaving him hazy and desperate.
"Have dinner with me," he said, the words pouring out of him before he'd realized he'd said them aloud, or knew where they came from.
She managed a smile, thought it was soft and tremulous. "We did. Twenty minutes ago."
Marshall levered up on his elbows, his eyes hot and serious. "You know what I mean."
"I thought you preferred blondes. Leggy and all that," she quipped with a laugh, but the sound was weak. Breathy with longing. And it pleased him to see she was still a bit unsteady, every bit as affected as he was.
Sitting up, he skimmed a finger along the curve of her cheek, and while his eyes held hers, down the line of her throat to settle against the tempting curve of her clavicle where her heart beat kicked.
"I'm beginning to discover a preference for pint-sized brunettes." Marshall rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. Grinned. "Have dinner with me, Eva."
"I can't."
"It's just a dinner," he said, equally amused and annoyed. And dropped his hand.
"Nothing's ever just dinner," Eva sighed. "Truth be told I'd rather you just ask me to sleep with you and call it a day."
"That's a stretch, isn't it? From dinner to sheet-tussling?"
"Not really, no. You're attractive and I've gauged your character enough to know you're not a sociopath, you're not a scumbag, and most importantly, you're not a local. You have a life and a job in Toronto that you'll be returning to before summer's end. That makes you safe and temporary."
Wanting to draw out the moment of conversation just a little bit longer, he dropped back against the pillow of damp sand, crossed his ankles. "Don't drink from the local watering hole, eh?"
"I live on an island." Eva shrugged, entirely without apology, dusting sand off her hands. "I won't risk the ugly business of dating where I live."
Marshall recognized a hard line being drawn when he heard one, and this was the stance of a woman who's sole view on relationships was that they were all transient and temporary, rather then the possibility of growing into something to last and endure.
An interesting perspective, he thought, if not a touch cynical and pessimistic.
"You can't be more than, what? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?"
Eva ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth. "Thirty. What's your point?"
"Don't you want to settle down?"
"I am. With my home. My business and my girls. I don't need a man in my life for that."
"What about Jenelle?" he asked, pushing to his feet as she rose to hers, rigid with annoyance. "The fact that I'm her brother doesn't bother you?"
Tipping back her head, her gaze challenged him. "Are you married?"
"No."
"Engaged, or in a serious relationship?"
Marshall smirked, brushing wet sand off the back of his legs. And quickly decided it was a losing battle. "Not that I know of."
"Then why should Jenelle care who you sleep with? We're adults. Sex is sex and doesn't have to be complicated just because we're connected through mutual association."
"Aren't you a puzzle? And here I thought you'd give me the 'last man on earth' spiel."
"Why's that?"
"Because," he said, circling his fingers around her wrists he slid his hands up her arms, "while I am very open to the idea of getting you naked, I have a bigger agenda. My editor wants me to convince you to go on air for a live segment. I was hoping to butter you up with some great food, expensive wine and invigorating conversation."
Beneath his hands, Marshall felt stiffness work along her shoulders, but she didn't pull away from him. Not physically at least. But the heart of her was leagues away, tucked safe behind a wall where he couldn't follow or reach.
And the thought that he wanted to surprised him.
"Never going to happen."
"You said the same thing about me growing on you." He stepped back, gestured around them. "And here we are." He'd expected a number of reactions from her, annoyance being first and foremost, but it was the flicker of fear that stilled him.
"I can't go on air. I won't," she said, banding her arms across her chest. Regret curving her shoulders. "I guess that means you'll want to retract your offer of dinner, wine and conversation?"
"Only if you want me to," he said, drawing closer, crooking a knuckle beneath her chin. His eyes searching hers, for what, Marshall couldn't say for sure. "But I hope you won't."
Eva drew in a breath. Held it a beat and released slowly. Sex was safe. Dinner presented a potential landmine of problems and was the main reason why she'd only accepted a handful of offers in the last three years. Too much time that had be filled up with talking and questions where simple sex didn't require any talking at all...
Say no. Walk away. The words sat there on her tongue but for reasons she couldn't begin to understand they sat like lead. Heavy and unmoving.
"I'm free this Friday. Anytime after eight. You pick the place and I'll meet you there."
"Friday it is." A pressure that had built within his chest lessened in relief. For a minute he actually thought she might have said no, and the thought of her turning him down had made Marshall about as anxious as his thirteen year old self working up the nerve to ask Teresa Sarraino to a school dance.
"If I make a reservation for eight, then I'll pick you up at your place and-?"
"No," Eva interrupted, gentle but firm. "No, I leave alone and I come home alone. No exceptions."
Another line, he thought. And decided now was not the time or place to press or dig. Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips and brushed them across her knuckles. Had the pleasure of seeing her pupils widen and the rich, exotic brown deepen in the fading sunset.
"It's a date."