Unlawful Contact (2 page)

He couldn’t argue with that. Besides, if she wanted to have sex with him badly enough that he couldn’t talk her out of it, he wasn’t stupid enough to stop her. He wanted her—bad.

“Come on.”

He grabbed the blanket he kept in his trunk, took Sophie’s trembling hand in his, and led her to a secluded copse of piñon pine away from the road. Then he spread the blanket on the warm, sandy ground.

If he’d expected her to get cold feet, he was wrong. The moment he turned to her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, stood on her toes, and kissed him. His little fairy sprite was passionate. Well, that was fine by him.

He drew her down to the blanket beside him, kissed her until his mouth burned, until he’d tasted her lips in every possible way, until they were both breathless, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“God, Sophie, you are so sweet!”

Slowly, he undid the buttons of her blouse to reveal a lacy white bra and two small but perfect breasts.

“I-I’m flat chested.” She looked away.

“Who told you that?” He pressed his lips against the lace, felt her body tense, heard her gasp. “I think you’re perfect.”

Unable to suppress a hungry groan, he unfastened the clasp, lowered his mouth to a tight, pink nipple, and sucked.

“Oh!” She arched off the blanket with a cry, her fingers digging into his hair.

Soon she was twisting beneath him, her head turning from side to side, her silky hair a tangled mass, and he was so hard and so turned on from the sight and taste of her that it hurt. He knew he needed to go slowly, but he didn’t think he could wait much longer. He ran his hand down the satin skin of her belly, unbuttoned her jeans, then tugged them off with her panties, exposing the soft curls of her muff and a pair of smooth, slender legs.

He’d expected her to be shy, but she wasn’t. Instead of hiding herself from him, she tried to undress
him
, tugging his T-shirt out of his jeans and fumbling with the buttons of his fly.

“I want to touch you!” Her voice was a breathy whisper.

“Yeah.” He liked that idea.

He yanked off his shirt, then guided her uncertain fingers, nearly coming undone when she slid her hands over the skin of his bare ass to push his jeans and boxers out of the way.

“Can I see?” she asked.

“See?” And then he understood.

She’d never seen a dick before, at least not a hard one.

He rolled onto his side, took her hand, and guided it to his stiff cock, his entire body tensing when her fingers closed around him.

Sophie hadn’t thought an erect penis would be so big. Or so hard. Or so silky. “I thought it would be like a hot dog.”

He gave a snort. Then laughed. “A hot dog?”

She stroked him, ran her thumb over the moistened tip, felt his body jerk, his laughter catching in his throat, becoming a moan. Hungry for him, she explored him with her hands—his erection, his belly, his chest with its mat of dark curls.

And then he was kissing her again, his lips burning a path over her mouth, down her throat to her breasts, his fingers seeking between her thighs, teasing that secret part of her until she felt damp and hot and achy.

“I want to taste you!” His breath was cool against the heat of her wet, tingling nipples, his hand persistent between her thighs.

Surely he didn’t mean…

Oh, but he did!

Shocked to her core, she tried to stop him. “Hunt, no! You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His hard thigh pressed between hers, nudged her legs apart. Then he kissed his way down her body, the heat of his mouth and the anticipation raising bumps on her skin.

When at last he kissed her there, he did it with the same attention he’d given her mouth, his lips and tongue unbearably hot, the sweet tug of his lips so intense it almost made her scream. Never had she felt anything like this. She bit her lip, held her breath, fought not to break apart.

“Mmm.” He groaned, nipping her sensitive inner thigh. “God, you taste good!”

He took her with his mouth again, this time sliding first one finger, then two deep inside her, stretching her, stroking her, setting her body on fire.

Breath left her lungs in a low, keening cry—and the heat inside her exploded. Molten gold blazed through her, the sensation both scorching and sweet. Only when the pleasure had ebbed did he stop, his lips finding a path up her belly, over her breasts, to her mouth. He tasted wild and musky, and she realized it was
her
flavor on his lips.

“Are you sure you want to do this, sprite? We can just hold at third base if you want, and you can stay a virgin. I won’t be angry.”

She could see on his face that it cost him something to say those words, and it struck her as excruciatingly sweet that he would give her the chance to back out. Most guys probably wouldn’t do that. But then he was special. Hadn’t she always sensed that?

She pressed her fingers against his lips to quiet him, her decision made the moment he’d kissed her. “I want it to be you, Hunt. I want you.”

“Thank God! I want you more than any girl I’ve ever known!” He stretched himself out above her, lifted one of her slender legs, and wrapped it around his waist. “But there’s something you should know.”

Sophie slid her shaky hands up the muscles of his chest. “Wh-what?”

“I’ve never done this with a virgin. I might hurt you.” Then he nudged himself slowly into her, breath hissing from between his clenched teeth, his gaze locked with hers, his muscles tense.

She gave a surprised gasp at the pain, then felt him withdraw.

Had she scared him off?

She drew him closer. “Don’t stop! It doesn’t hurt—too much.”

He gave her a lopsided grin, sweat on his forehead and chest. “I don’t plan to stop, sprite. I’m just letting you get used to me.”

She felt his hips shift, felt him slide slowly into her again, stretching her past the pain, the fullness both piercing and hot. “Oh! Oh, Hunt, yes!”

He groaned, his eyes closed. “God, Sophie! You feel so good! So wet and tight! I don’t think this will last very long.”

Then he began to move, his motions reigniting the fire inside her, the pleasure building thrust upon thrust, until the stars seemed to explode and rain down around them, leaving them both panting and sweaty in the cool summer night.

H
UNT STROKED
S
OPHIE’S
hair, staring at the star-strewn sky above, his senses filled with her. “It’s different with you.”

She lifted her head off his chest, looked at him through sleepy eyes. “What’s different?”

“Everything.”

T
HEY LAY TOGETHER
on the blanket, dozing, talking, laughing. He made love to her twice more, holding her until the sun came up and turned the canyon walls pink. Then he dressed her, crooning an old fifties love song, his lips pressed against her hair.

“One starry night, I kissed your lips/One starry night, I held you tight/You and I under the starry sky.”

But the happiness Sophie had felt through the night seemed to dim with the daylight. All too soon, she found herself sitting in his car just down the street from her grandma’s house, fighting tears as silence stretched between them.

“What are you going to tell your grandma?”

“I don’t know. That I just lost my virginity to the guy she warned me about.” She laughed despite the heaviness in her chest and realized that something had changed. She no longer cared what her grandmother thought.

Hunt frowned. “She warned you about me?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she was right, wasn’t she?”

Sophie shook her head, clasped his big hand tightly. “No, she was dead wrong.”

More silence.

“I liked you from the first moment I saw you,” he said at last.

“Really?” She found that hard to believe. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He reached over, ran a finger down her cheek. “I didn’t think a guy like me would stand a chance with a girl as smart and sweet as you.”

“That’s stupid!” she snapped, feeling genuinely angry. But one look at his face and her anger was gone. He truly believed what he’d said. “I liked you from the first time I saw you, too. I’m going to miss you, Hunt.”

“I’d promise to stay in touch, but I’ve never written a letter in my life.”

She stared down at their entwined fingers. “I wish…”

“Me, too. But it’s better this way. You have better things to do than hang around with a loser like me. You’re going to go to college, become a famous journalist, and end up on the TV news. I’ll be able to watch you and think, ‘See that beautiful woman? She gave you the sweetest night of your life.’”

His words seemed to shoot straight through her heart.

Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, fought to keep her voice steady. “And what about you?”

He shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll try to be an astronaut after all. Might as well shoot for the stars, right?”

She nodded, swallowed her tears, unable to speak.

“Stay away from Patrick and his gang. Promise?”

She nodded again.

“And don’t listen to what anyone in this town has to say. You’re beautiful, and one day the perfect man will come along and sweep you away. Tough luck for me, isn’t it?” He gave a little laugh, then his voice grew tight. “I won’t forget you, fairy sprite.”

And as she watched him drive away in his blue ’55 Chevy, tears streaming down her face, Sophie knew she’d never forget him either.

Twelve years later

S
OPHIE
A
LTON DROVE
through the streets of Denver as quickly as she could in six inches of slick snow. She was running almost twenty minutes late on the one day in her journalistic career when she didn’t want to be late. Today Megan Rawlings would be able to hold her baby girl for the first time since the baby’s birth seven months ago. It was the day Megan had been living for, the day she’d been working so hard for, and Sophie didn’t want to miss a single moment of it.

She’d told the publisher that she had an important interview this morning, but Glynnis Williams never let anyone’s schedule interrupt her agenda. Glynnis had joined the paper three months ago and had made it abundantly clear that she cared more about advertising dollars than journalistic ethics. She’d interrupted the Investigative Team meeting to explain at great length why she wasn’t going to oppose legislation that would weaken the state’s whistle-blower laws, her reasons having everything to do with sucking up to big business and government interests and nothing to do with journalism.

Naturally, Tom hadn’t taken this lying down. Tom Trent had the reputation of being the toughest, most brilliant editor in the state—and the most likely to be murdered by a member of his own staff. But today he’d seemed almost likeable. He taken Glynnis on, haranguing her for a good fifteen minutes about the importance of whistleblower protection laws and slamming her with the most inspired version of his “Watchdogs of Freedom” rant Sophie had ever heard. Glynnis had left the meeting looking gratifyingly angry, but that didn’t change the fact that Sophie was now running late.

She took the exit at Federal, glanced at the digital clock on her dashboard, and pushed the speedometer up to thirty-five, weighing the benefits of speeding against the risk of totaling her car on the ice. “Dammit, Glynnis!”

She’d been reporting on Megan’s struggle since last summer, when her investigation into the stillbirth of an inmate’s baby had spurred her to look closely at the plight of women in prison. Megan had been seven months pregnant then, and something about her had tugged at Sophie’s heartstrings. Perhaps it was Megan’s vulnerability, a young woman going through the uncertainty of pregnancy and childbirth in a world of cold steel and indifferent strangers. Perhaps it was Megan’s brave struggle to overcome her addiction. Or maybe it was Megan’s sweetness and lingering innocence, qualities one didn’t often encounter among repeat offenders.

Sophie had visited Megan every week for months. She’d reported on the drug charges that had landed Megan in prison, six weeks pregnant. She’d bitten her fingernails in the hospital hallway while Megan, shackled by one ankle to the delivery table and denied pain relief by an indifferent obstetrician, had endured eighteen long hours of labor. She’d watched when Megan had kissed and cuddled her newborn. She’d tried not to cry when Social Services had taken little Emily away, her heart breaking at Megan’s tears and grief.

But today there would be tears of a different sort. Today, mother and child would finally be reunited for a two-hour supervised visit. Just thinking about it put a lump in Sophie’s throat.

She turned left onto Acoma—and pressed on the brakes. Five police cruisers sat in front of New Horizons, lights flashing. It wasn’t unusual to see a cop car parked there. After all, New Horizons was a halfway house, and every so often one of the residents screwed up—broke the house rules, tested hot for drugs, lifted something—and landed back in prison. But never during the months she’d come here had Sophie seen this kind of police response.

Someone was in deep trouble.

She made her way around the bottleneck created by the police cars, nosed her little Toyota into the parking lot, and turned off the engine. Then she grabbed her notebook and purse and stepped out into the frigid February morning. The sky was a brilliant blue, but the sunshine held no warmth, an icy wind blowing off the jagged white mountains to the west. She pulled her coat tighter and, chin down, hurried to the front door.

Joaquin Ramirez, the paper’s best shooter, was already waiting for her in the lobby, his camera ready. He grinned when he saw her. “Told you I’d get here first.”

“You cheated.” Sophie fished out her press card, glanced toward the reception desk. “Lucky for you every cop in Denver was here. One of them might have pulled you over.”

He rolled his dark eyes. “Don’t blame me if you’re chicken to drive in snow.”

She glanced toward the reception desk. “Did you check in?”

“Nope. I was waiting for you.”

Sophie crossed the lobby, signed in, and held out her press card. “Sophie Alton and Joaquin ‘Speedy’ Ramirez here to see Megan Rawlings.”

The receptionist glanced down at Sophie’s press ID, then met her gaze, a strange look on her face. “You’ll have to wait in the lobby.”

Sophie’s stomach knotted. “Is something wrong?”

The police couldn’t be here for Megan. They couldn’t be.

“Wait in the lobby.”

Too nervous to sit, Sophie walked back into the lobby and stood by the window, looking out at the police cars. “They can’t be here for her, Joaquin.”

He set his camera bag down on one of the chairs, gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve really gotten attached to her, haven’t you?”

There was no way to deny it. “Yeah.”

They’d waited almost thirty minutes—a half hour that seemed an eternity—when a squat, balding police officer came round the corner accompanied by a tall, dark-haired man with a fat moustache who was wearing a charcoal gray business suit. Sophie could tell by the way the jacket bulged on one side that the man was carrying a firearm. A detective?

Her heart sank.

“Ms. Alton?” The cop had a notepad and a pencil in his hand.

“Yes.”

“I’m Officer Reed. This is Officer Harburg.”

Officer Harburg held out his hand. “I’m Megan Rawlings’s parole officer.”

Feeling almost sick, Sophie shook the man’s hand. “Please tell me Megan and Emily are all right.”

Officer Harburg gave a sad smile. “I wish we could, but Ms. Rawlings seems to have taken her baby and disappeared.”

“W
HEN THEY CATCH
her, they’ll charge her with possession of a controlled substance, skipping parole, and kidnapping.” Sophie tossed back the last of her chocolatini, chasing her misery away with the one-two punch of booze and best friends. “The stuff they found in her room field-tested positive for heroin.”

“I’m sorry, Sophie.” Tessa Darcangelo, a former member of the I-Team, rubbed her pregnant belly, her blue eyes filled with sympathy, her long blond curls hanging down the back of her chair. “I know how much she and her baby meant to you.”

Sophie knew that Tessa really
did
understand. Last year, Tessa had witnessed the murder of a teenage girl and had nearly lost her own life trying to expose the human trafficker who was responsible. Sophie suspected Tessa carried the girl’s dying screams with her to this day.

“How can they accuse her of kidnapping her own daughter?” Holly Bradshaw, one of the entertainment writers at the paper, popped an olive in her mouth. Tall, platinum blond, and model-gorgeous, she rarely ate food that contained calories. “Doesn’t she have a legal right to be with her baby?”

“Not if she doesn’t have custody.” Kara McMillan, who’d once been the I-Team’s star reporter, set her empty margarita glass aside and tucked a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear. With a hunky senator for a husband, three adorable kids, and a successful freelance and nonfiction book career, she was everything Sophie hoped to be one day—wife, mother, star journalist. “I’m guessing the baby is a ward of the state.”

Sophie nodded. “A family of Mennonites has been caring for her—really sweet people. I bet they’re worried to death.”

Sophie had met them and interviewed them—a kind, older couple who’d raised nine children of their own and somehow had energy left to lavish love and attention on the kids of women in prison. Emily was the sixth foster child they’d taken. It had been plain to see that they adored her.

Tessa flagged down the waiter. “Another boring herbal tea for me and another chocolatini for her. Drink your brains out, Sophie. I’ll take you home.”

“That’s the nice thing about having pregnant friends.” Sophie smiled, fighting the sense of gloom that had dogged her all day.

“Designated drivers,” they all said in unison, laughing.

One hour and two drinks later, Sophie felt tipsier, but not more cheerful. Katherine James, the I-team’s environmental reporter, arrived late and ordered a mug of hot chocolate. A mixed-blood Navajo with long dark hair and unusual hazel green eyes, she never drank alcohol. Sophie had originally found her distant and aloof, but she’d realized that Katherine, or Kat as everyone called her, was just naturally reserved. Maybe it was a cultural trait.

They’d quit talking about Megan and her baby and had moved on to a discussion about virginity, prompted by Holly’s tale of the Saudi Arabian prince she’d met and slept with while skiing at Aspen last weekend. “He was surprised to discover I wasn’t a virgin, but he didn’t see anything wrong with the fact that he wasn’t a virgin.”

“Ah, the good old double standard!” Kara smiled. “Somehow I think the two of you aren’t meant for each other.”

“Hardly! Though the prince thing
was
très glam.” Holly ate another olive. “So how old were you when you lost your virginity?”

Kara was the first to volunteer. “I was nineteen. We did it at his apartment—lots of candles and Bon Jovi playing in the background. It seemed romantic at the time, but compared to sex with Reece, it was pretty silly.”

“I was at college, and we did it in his dorm room.” Tessa shook her head at the memory. “I thought he was the one, but afterwards he told me he’d just wanted to have sex with a natural blonde. It was so humiliating! I didn’t go near a man after that until Julian.”

“How about you, Kat?” Holly was obviously enjoying the conversation, sex being her favorite topic and natural habitat.

Kat looked down at the table. “I haven’t done that yet.”

“Really?” Holly looked so stunned that Sophie almost laughed.

Kat shrugged. “There was no way to hide birth control living with nine other people in my grandmother’s hogan, and I didn’t want to get pregnant and miss out on college.”

“Okay.” Holly seemed to be thinking it through. “But what about during college?”

“Not everyone makes sex their top priority, Holly,” Kara said.

But Holly was still staring at Kat.

“I never met anyone who was worth it,” Katherine answered simply.

“I was fourteen.” Holly smiled conspiratorially. “He was the brother of my best friend. It was
so
lame! We did it in his bedroom while his parents were downstairs watching TV.”

As Holly went on to share too much information, as she always did, Sophie found her thoughts drifting back to the night she’d spent with Hunt so long ago. She could almost hear his voice explaining the stars, oldies tunes drifting over his radio, his arm around her shoulder.

It hadn’t been silly or humiliating or lame.

It had been romantic and passionate—and beautiful.

I want you more than any girl I’ve ever known!

He’d said it, and she’d known he meant it.

No man had come close to matching his intensity—or his sweetness. Not the egocentric attorney she’d gone out with a few years back. Or the self-absorbed rock climber she’d dated briefly after that. Or the reporter from the
Post
she’d gotten together with last year.

She’d thought of tracking Hunt down, but then she’d imagined how it would feel to knock on his door—and come face-to-face with his lovely wife and their three kids. The thought had stopped her cold.

“How about you, Sophie? Your turn.”

Sophie sipped her chocolatini, swallowed the rush of emotion that lingered around that bittersweet memory. “I was sixteen, and he was the hottest guy in the senior class—and the school bad boy. We had sex on a blanket under the stars in the desert, and it was perfect.”

Four pairs of eyes stared at her, blinked.

“Really?” Holly looked incredulous.

Sophie tossed back the last of her drink. “Really.”

“What happened afterwards?” Tessa asked.

“He enlisted in the army, and I never saw him again.”

With that, the conversation shifted once more.

Tessa shared her determination to get through her baby’s birth without drugs, provided she could have a vanilla latte the moment the baby was born. “Nothing can equal the agony of going without coffee for nine months.”

Kara assured them they had nothing to worry about with the whistle-blower bill. “Reece says the bill will die in committee.” Kara always had the inside scoop on events at the state capitol because her husband, Reece Sheridan, was president of the State Senate. “There’s no way it will even reach the Senate floor.”

“That’s good to hear,” Kat said. “If it were to pass—”

“Why the hell did she do it?” The words burst out before Sophie could stop them. “Megan was close—
so close
—to having her life and her baby back!”

For a moment, none of her friends said anything.

Then Tessa reached over, took Sophie’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. “God only knows why people do the stupid things they do.”

“You know, Sophie, maybe this is so hard for you because of what happened with your own parents.” Kara spoke quietly, almost hesitantly. “It must be hard for you to see a mother and child torn apart like that.”

The ache that had been sitting in Sophie’s chest all day grew sharper. “Yeah. I’m sure that’s part of it.”

She’d been fifteen when her parents, who’d owned a popular restaurant in downtown Denver, had been hit and killed by a drunk driver. Everything about her life had changed overnight. She and her younger brother, David, had gone from living with a doting mother and father in a wealthy Denver suburb to living with their maternal grandmother in Grand Junction, a smallish Colorado town on the edge of nowhere. The sense of loss and the shock of separation had been staggering. Her parents had gone out—but they’d never come home.