Book Quote Wednesday's word is PLEASE-- and a smarty-pants marine biologist knows one thing-- she can't please Mom anymore. One Night in Havana excerpt below.
Mom wanted her only child to settle down, have a family.
Often nursing a hurt, mom’s heart had broken when she'd asked Ken to move out a
year ago. "Why not phone him, sweetie? Get things going again."
"Mom, please understand,” she’d begged. “His kisses
leave me feeling... nothing." Even when she'd put her heart and soul into
it, hoping it might have an earthshaking effect, the earth didn't move. Not
even a wiggle. She sucked at faking orgasms. Her oohs and aahs never came
out with the right pitch. Thoughts of fake orgasms and her mother collided and
sent her brain into a blitz. She shook her head, forcing herself not to worry
over Ken or how badly Mom wanted grandchildren. In spite of mother-daughter friction,
she was grateful for her mom. She shivered with fear of being caught up in drug
smuggling and the subsequent detainment keeping her from going home. Wasn't it
up to her to protect herself?
Earlier that day, walking through the marina in the warm sunshine,
she’d scoped out where Carlos Montoya's cabin cruiser [L1] was
moored. On this pier she guessed, and sauntered along looking for a Chris
Craft.
The occasional creak of a boat rocking in the swell and a
sail flapping in the breeze weren't enough to hide her footsteps. She clutched
her shaking hands around her purse, nervous the wrong people would hear her. She
bent,removed her shoes, and looped the fingers of one hand through the straps. She
contemplated an out of the way place to
watch the action. She swallowed and put a hand to her throat, trying to
dislodge a mass of nerves that stuck like stale bread. Butterflies in her stomach confirmed she was
out of her comfort zone. Just then she spotted Carlos's boat.
She smiled to herself when she read the name on the stern, Bonita. No doubt the sweet talker
nicknamed all of his girlfriends Bonita. Strange
how the take-charge man made her tingle in the right places. His boat rocked gently in the waves
rolling in through the channel of Havana Bay. Each time the water level dripped
from the wash, it exposed a mahogany
hull. There was no sign of life onboard. No Bonita, no Carlos.
The view from here looked directly across the narrow
channel to the berth where her cruise ship was moored. She stood for a minute
in the shadows before stepping closer to his boat. It appeared no one spotted her, She leaped across the narrow expanse of
dark water and landed softly on the stern deck. The polished teak surface
beneath her bare feet felt surprisingly smooth considering the boat was
circa-1956. She pulled at her dress which hitched up her thighs and longed for
comfortable shorts and a T-shirt. A scraping sound set her heart fluttering.
She stopped pacing, held her breath, and listened. Goose bumps ran down her
arms, and she gripped her shoes. The boat rocked, and she braced herself
against the cabin door for balance. Whew.
The boat was only rubbing against the tire cushioning the tidal impact.
She blew out a breath and inched along the boat until she
reached the back deck. Across the water, she had a clear view of her cabin door
in case someone went in and hid drugs in her scuba equipment. She searched in
the dim light for a good vantage point without being seen. Life jackets were
stowed under seats, and she reached to pull one out and pushed it into the
shadows. After settling cross-legged, she spotted figures milling about the
cruise ship’s deck. Chucky had told a big, fat lie. Some were dancing while
others sat around watching a bikini-clad woman pole dance. Another woman
wearing a tropical-print sarong stood at her cabin door.
Veronica gasped and scrambled to her feet. She leaned
against the railing to get her balance. A search light glinted off a glass
window next to the woman, and she placed her other hand over her eyes to block
it. The woman wasn't there anymore. She’d gone into her cabin.
She really should investigate. Little Miss Boring Marine Biologist. Way out of your league. She
decided to push past good old Chucky, make her way into her cabin, and check
out her belongings. Veronica gathered up her shoes and purse.
She tiptoed along the boat,
and as it rocked, she stumbled and paused. There was a slapping of water against the
hull. Hair rose on the back of her neck, and she moved past the cabin. She
gripped the gunwale and looked across at the dock. The gap between the boat and
the floating pontoon had widened with the movement of the tide. She took a deep
breath and then hesitated to leap across the water.
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