Page 11 of Confessions

He laughed at that and the deep, rumbling sound surprised her. “Hope you’re not disappointed.”

She considered the rumors she’d heard about him, but dismissed them all. She felt carefree and a little reckless as the boat sliced through the water at a speed fast enough to bring tears to her eyes.

He followed the shoreline, turning back on the path they’d taken. On the south side of the lake, they passed by the old bait-and-tackle shop and the dock where Ben’s boat still rocked with the waves. Ben was standing at the dock and his expression was positively murderous. Nadine smiled back at him. They passed the public park and moorage, as well as the old summer camp and chapel. Following the curve of the shoreline, the boat sped along the north bank, the rich side of Whitefire Lake. Nadine caught glimpses of huge mansions nestled discreetly in thickets of pine and oak. Boathouses, patios, tennis courts and swimming pools flashed by. Every so often a private dock fingered into the clear water.

“You probably wonder why I’m driving this—” he said, motioning toward the boat, as if suddenly a little self-conscious.

“It’s yours?”

“My father’s,” he admitted with a grimace, and then, as if guessing her next question, added, “Even though I didn’t want the Mercedes, thi

s is different. I can use the boat without having to worry about having any strings attached to it.”

“No price to pay?”

“Not yet. But it could still happen.” His smile faded. “With my old man you just never know. Everything comes down to dollars and cents with him.” As if hearing the anger in his voice, he glanced at her. “Still want to hang out with me?”

“Talking about your father doesn’t scare me off.”

“It should.”

“I’ve got two older brothers. I don’t scare easily,” she remarked, though her tongue nearly tripped on the lie. Truth to tell, she was frightened even now. Scared of being alone with him, scared of what she might do.

He laughed and shook his head. “You haven’t come up against dear old Dad.”

Seemingly convinced that she wasn’t going to change her mind, he slowed the boat and edged the prow into a small cove on the north shore. Nadine’s heart was thumping so loudly, she thought he could hear its uneven beat. What was she doing here, alone, with a boy she barely knew? A rich boy with a bad reputation? He decelerated the speedboat to a crawl, guiding the craft through a thin inlet that opened to a tree-shaded lagoon. “Ever been here?” he asked, and she shook her head.

She’d never been so close to all the expensive homes on this side of the lake. “Is this on your property?”

“My father’s.” A line of consternation formed between his brows for a second. “Garreth takes great delight in owning things and people.”

“Like you?”

One side of his mouth lifted crookedly. “Well, I’m the one thing he can’t buy. At least not anymore. It frustrates the hell out of him.”

“And gives you great joy.”

His white teeth flashed devilishly. “I do like getting his goat.” Taking her hand, he guided her to a stretch of beach where sunlight pierced the canopy of pine boughs and pooled on the glittering sand. “I used to come here as a kid,” he admitted, eyeing the berry vines that were beginning to encroach along the forest’s edge. “But that was a long time ago, when my father could still buy me.”

“You act as if your father’s an ogre.”

“Isn’t he?”

“My dad doesn’t think so.” Nadine sat on a smooth, bleached boulder and wiggled her toes into the warm sand. “In fact, he thinks your father is a prime example of the American dream.”

“By inheriting a sawmill or two?” Hayden snorted. “He just happened to be the son of a wealthy man.”

She glanced at him pointedly, but didn’t say a word.

“I know, ‘like me.’ That’s what you were thinking, so you might as well say it.”

“It’s just that I don’t see that you have all that much to complain about.”

“But, then, you don’t know my family, do you?”

She shook her head, her long hair sweeping across her shoulders. And when she looked up, he was staring at her, his feet planted wide apart, his muscles tense. She felt the undercurrent of electricity in the air, as surely as the breeze causing the branches overhead to sway. The air smelled of water and cut cedar, and over the erratic beat of her heart she heard the muted sounds of birds chirping and the distant roar of motorboats.

She swallowed against a cotton-dry throat and licked her lips.