Rachel had been there every step of the way as Emma tried to find her place again, where the world didn't constantly feel as if it might shift beneath her feet at any second.
Of course, the woman who knew her best hadn't been fooled by Emma's bravado and general pretending that everything was fine. "I swear I'm trying."
Rachel frowned. "No one said you weren't. Craphead drove off a bridge with you strapped into the passenger seat. If you never go into the ocean again, I don't think anyone would say two words about it, least of all me."
Craphead had been Rachel's nickname for Chris even before he'd tried to take Emma along on his suicide mission. Honestly, she was surprised Rachel had stuck with something so bland. "But this trip was supposed to be about moving on. I hate that you're trapped in la-la land with me. You should get to have fun on your vacation."
"Honey, look around you." Waving at the pool, Rachel grinned and jerked her head at an oiled specimen of manhood parading around for their viewing pleasure. "This is the Caribbean. I'm sitting by the pool with my best friend, and I have a margarita in my hand. The view does not suck. Which part of this isn't fun?"
The part where I'm being a big fat baby about going in the water.
"Besides," Rachel continued brightly. "I'm a big girl. If I want to go snorkeling, I can go by myself."
And that decided it. If Rachel wanted to go snorkeling-despite never having mentioned such a burning desire-she should go snorkeling. With Emma. Who should stop making such a big deal about the ocean. The water was clear enough to see the bottom, for crying out loud. Emma could stick her head under the surface. No problem.
But while Rachel tore off on another subject, Emma's chest constricted so fast she saw stars.
"You okay?" Rachel set her drink down and smoothed a palm over Emma's arm.
"Fine." It came out more easily these days than it once had.
But what was the definition of fine? Not waking up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath after another nightmare where she couldn't find the surface? Being able to go back to work at Dr. Blair's office and be a dental hygienist again? Spending seven days in the Caribbean with your best friend and actually having a good time?
If so, Emma was going to be fine, starting right now. Rachel deserved it. Emma deserved it.
"Hey, looks like Rico's shift is over," Emma commented breezily, as if she really was a normal woman on a normal vacation. The bartender had just untied his apron and thrown it on the bar. "You should see if he wants to watch a movie or something. You can have the room."
She threw in a brow waggle for good measure just in case Rachel couldn't decode "watch a movie" on her own.
Rachel's eyes widened as she followed Emma's line of sight. "Now that's a fabulous idea if I ever heard one. You're a peach, hon. Sure you'll be okay hanging out here by yourself?"
Something unintended must have flashed across Emma's face because Rachel chuckled with a knowing nod.
"I see." Her friend stuck her tongue out. "You don't expect to be alone."
Actually, what Emma had in mind required zero audience, but she let Rachel think whatever got her friend gone and waved as she took off after Rico's deep dimples before he disappeared.
As soon as Rachel strolled out of sight, hand placed provocatively on the bartender's solid bicep, Emma leaped off the lounge chair and beelined it for the beach. If she walked far enough along the shoreline, she could avoid a repeat of yesterday, where her attempts to strong-arm her water phobia into submission had resulted in an unwanted admirer.
Giant boulders marked off the resort beach, not so much blocking the way as providing flag posts for the extent of the resort property. Beyond the boulders, which were easily skirted, the beach grew scraggly and the sand not as fine. Which mattered nothing to Emma other than it meant guests never went this far, because there were no lounge chairs and waiters with umbrella drinks. Nor were there ham-handed creeps with no neck and no morals.
This time she might actually make it out into the water. Baby steps. Once she waded out, voilà. Everything would fall into place, and she'd have no problem ducking her head under the water. No more panic attacks, and then she could march back to the room and grin at Rachel as she announced, "Book the snorkeling excursion."
Step one toward regaining control of her mental state and her life.
Except the surf was a little rougher here, pounding against the sand relentlessly as wave after wave rolled in. There was nothing out here. No people, no houses, no boats. Emma glanced back at the resort, barely visible from her vantage point. The land snaked along the shore, curving and curling a bit so that natural inlets formed. Overgrown weeds and cattails covered the dunes, which was pretty but didn't provide much in the way of line of sight. If something bad happened, no one at the resort would ever see her as she went under for the last time.
God, what a stupid idea.
The ocean was a killer. The worst kind of killer because it came wrapped in a beautiful package, lying silent until it struck, forcing you under the pressure of its weight and disorienting you from seeing which direction the oxygen lay.
She whirled and walked back in the direction she'd come. The rough sand bit into her feet. Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat. The taunt rose up in her head, repeating in time to the sound of her footfalls.
The ocean wasn't the problem. Emma was the problem. She'd fallen for Chris without realizing his good looks and stable job hid deep, psychological problems. The whole time she'd been fighting for her life as her fingers worked at the seat belt buckle so she could escape the watery grave Chris had designed for them both, all she could think was, "I want to live."
And she had survived. But wasn't really living.
Skidding to a halt before she'd traveled two yards toward the resort, she bit her lip and groaned.
Rachel had planned this trip specifically for Emma's mental well-being and Emma wasn't stepping up. If she couldn't swim, she couldn't go snorkeling, now could she? She owed Rachel a fun trip and owed it to both of them to get better. She pivoted, marched back to her original spot, and took a deep breath. Walk toward the water. Do it.
She took a step.
There was just so much water. Everywhere. Surrounding the whole island, every place she turned. It was a lot of freaking water and she couldn't escape it. She backed up.
"Sweetheart, you're making me dizzy."
The smooth chuckle that accompanied the male voice emanating from behind her skittered down her spine. Dex. She'd only fantasized about his voice a million times. "I'm making me dizzy too."
Now why had she admitted something like that, especially to him? After all, he'd blown her off yesterday without a thought. He'd probably forgotten all about her.
Soft steps alerted her to his presence a moment before her back heated. His gaze was wandering down her shoulders and spine, caressing her waist. She could feel it, and that was just as arousing as imagining his hands replacing the scraps at her breasts. And lower.
Well, she'd gotten his attention again today, obviously.
But then he drew up beside her in the sand, staring out at the water. "Wouldn't have expected you to be so far from the resort after attracting the attention of the jackass yesterday."
She tossed hair over her shoulder as she glanced at him. "What, like I'm afraid?"
Could he see through her so easily? Did she radiate some kind of vibe that said she'd lost her inner strength and couldn't find it again?
"No, like you're smart. There's a whole lot of nothing out here."
Yeah, realized that, she thought sourly. "I was just thinking about going back."
"Oh, is that what was up with the Hokey Pokey you were just playing with yourself?"
His mouth quirked up in a grin she couldn't resist, and the corners of her own mouth lifted in involuntary response. As they smiled at each other, something elemental passed between them, coloring the atmosphere with a dark and delicious awareness.
"That's what it's all about, after all," she said.
"I've been missing out then." The teasing note in his voice dropped away. "Normally, this would be the part where I'd say, you should show me."
"But you're not going to," she guessed and tamped back the disappointment. He'd told her yesterday that he was bad news, but she'd half thought it might be a misguided sense of propriety after a near assault. Which she appreciated.
But this was today. The man exuded scarcely contained power and energy, and it was just as affecting as it had been yesterday. Never would she have said she was one to be attracted to a man like him, one who walked around wearing board shorts and nothing else, but barely seemed to register that anyone would find him worth gawking at.
But he was so gawkworthy, it wasn't even funny.