Beneath the Silk (13 page)

“Breathe, Sis, you’re not breathing. In and out, in and out. Come on.”

Feeling foolish, she exhaled and started to breathe. When his fingers moved past her waistline, she let out a scream. “Ouch!”

“There?” His fingers stopped just above her tailbone and gently tested the tender spot.

“That’s it. Ooh … careful.”

He dropped his hands. “I want to see. Get rid of the robe.”

“My robe?”

His arms came around her quickly and untied the slippery silk belt before she could get her hands off the table. A second after that, the robe was peeled off her shoulders and went sailing past her to the chair on the far side of the table. It caught on the back of the chair, then slid out of sight into the seat.

“Jackson, wait. I don’t have—”

“Sssh. It’s just me, remember?”

His hands reached for the edge of her white chemise. Then without warning, he squatted down, bringing his face mere inches from Sunni’s backside—her
exposed
backside. That’s right, she wore the latest fashion in underwear. The white silk thong was worth forty dollars and fit her like a glove. Something he would have known if he had given her time to explain.

Sunni squeezed her eyes shut and waited. A full minute passed and still he didn’t say anything. Finally she said, “Well … what do you see? I mean… You’re down there to look at my sore back, remember?”

“I remember why I’m down here.”

His heavy voice sounded huskier, and a bit strained. A second later, she felt his fingers slide over her spine and gently probe the sensitive areas above her tailbone. He said, “Slightly swollen. A damn good bruise.” He dropped her chemise back into place, then stood and took the cold pack wrapped in the small towel off the table and gently pressed it to the injured area. “It’ll be a few days before you feel like racing me to the elevator.”

“Jack…son, I—”

“Nice drawers.”

“Why did I know you were going to mention my underwear?”

“Because if I think it, I say it. Nice butt, too. Real nice.”

Sunni sucked in her breath, then let it out slowly as the cold pack began to ease her pain.

“Here.” He took a step closer, his arm coming
around the front of her to rest on her stomach. Pressing gently, he eased her back so her shoulders rested on his chest and the cold pack was wedged tightly between them. “Relax into me,” he softly said next to her ear. “Yeah, that’s it. Right there.”

For the next several minutes neither one spoke. Eyes closed, Sunni tried to remember to keep breathing. Finally, she said, “We can’t stand like this all night.”

“I know. I’ve got an idea. Want to hear it?”

She really did like his voice.

“Sis, you sleeping standing up?”

“No. But I wish I could.”

“Let’s go in the bedroom.”

His suggestion sent Sunni’s eyes blinking open.

“The bedroom?”

“I don’t have to see your face to know what you’re thinking. Shame on you. You’re suppose to be hurtin’. Or are you pulling my leg?”

Sunni was glad he couldn’t see her face, her cheeks felt hot. She could barely walk; of course he wasn’t suggesting anything sexual. “Do you enjoy making me uncomfortable?”

“You’re fun to tease. You wear your feelings. It’s pretty entertaining at times.”

“And you never wears yours? This cold pack,
‘yeah,
that’s it. Right there,’
is all
for me,
right?”

He chuckled. “Smart lady.”

“What’s your idea?”

“I think if I show you it’ll be better.” He eased her away from him and shut down his computer. He turned off the kitchen light next. “Here.” He handed her the cold pack, then carefully, without warning, he lifted her and cradled her against him. Again Sunni wrapped her arms around his neck the way she’d done earlier.

In her room, he eased her down on the edge of the bed. “Sit there a minute,” he said, then pulled the comforter back and stacked two pillows against the iron headboard. When he was finished, he climbed onto the bed and lay down. Spreading his long legs wide, he put the third pillow in the notch. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

Sunni stared at the open space. “You want me … there?” She pointed to the open vee.

“We’ll fit the ice to your back when you get into position, and I’ll pull the comforter over us to keep you warm.”

Sunni studied the situation a minute longer.

“If we’re lucky, I’ll fit you like a glove, Sis, and be the perfect medicine for what ails you. In two days, three at the most, you can kick me out of your bed and have it all to yourself again.”

He wanted her to sleep between his rock-hard thighs for two or three days? He had to be joking.

He yawned, patted the pillow. “Come on. Try me out and see how I fit.”

This was crazy. Utterly insane. Nonetheless, Sunni slowly got onto all fours and crawled into the open notch between Jackson’s legs. Then, before she slid into position, he adjusted the cold pack to her lower back.

A minute passed before she let herself relax fully against him, two minutes before she allowed herself to rest her head on his bare chest. He covered her with the blanket seconds later.

“Jackson, can you sleep like this all night?”

His response was slow in coming. It came after he’d shifted slightly and made a few minor adjustments. “I’m the whatever-it-takes cop, remember? I’ll manage. Now, get some sleep, Sis.”

Chapter 8

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J
ackson shrugged into his jacket, glad he had an appointment to keep. For two days he’d been cooped up with Sunni in her apartment, sharing her space during the daylight hours, and sleeping with her between his legs each night. And he was headed for an early grave if he had to sleep as her backboard one more night, harder than a steel pipe.

He’d endured naked lovers etched on glass shower doors, mirrors on the ceiling, a canopy bed straight out of a fairy tale. Sunni in silk at breakfast. Sunni in silk on the sofa. Sunni in silk between his legs all night long.

The ordeal had likely caused him permanent damage—a man’s anatomy wasn’t meant to be primed like Old Faithful, twenty-four hours a day without some kind of pressure release. And there would be no release as long as he stayed in her apartment. What he needed was a breath of cold reality back in his lungs, along with some good old-fashioned Chicago smog.

In the kitchen Jackson poured his man-size mug full of coffee. As he turned to leave, he locked eyes with Sunni on the other side of the counter—today’s silk torture was the color of fresh peaches, and as usual, she looked good enough to eat.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got an appointment this morning.”

“You never mentioned an appointment last night. With who?”

Jackson pointed to the piece of paper on the counter. “I explained it in the note.”

She glanced at the paper, then eyed his coffee mug. “Do all cops drink as much coffee as you do?”

If they were trying to cut back on their smoking they did. He’d decided this was as good a time as any to chuck the habit. Only with the situation being what it was lately, he really didn’t need another added frustration.

“I called the hospital and checked on the cab driver this morning. He’s out of intensive care. I’m going over there to talk to him.”

She stepped around the counter and walked past him, depositing that feminine scent of hers on the end of his nose. She was moving better than she had for the past two days. Good, maybe tonight he’d be able to get some real sleep.

She glanced at the stove. “Didn’t you make breakfast?”

“Yeah. I already ate.”

“But I haven’t.”

The look of disappointment she offered him made him feel guilty. “Maid service is going to start costing you pretty soon, Sis.”

“Maid service?” She lifted an irritated brow. “I can cook.”

“You haven’t for two days.” He eyed the twins, felt old faithful on the rise.

“That’s because I haven’t been able to buy space in my kitchen.”

“Well today you’re in luck. I’m going to be gone all day.” Jackson headed out of the kitchen with his mug of coffee. “About Mac… I want you to forgive him for breaking your lamp, and let him come back inside.”

“There’s no way.”

Mac had lost ground with Sunni when she’d noticed her expensive lamp wasn’t behind the sofa two days ago. And when Jackson’d showed her what was left of it—the pieces he’d boxed up that were out on the terrace—she had kicked Mac out to join the box of broken glass. Mac had been sleeping, and eating, and pouting out on the terrace ever since. And Sunni had been doing pretty much the same inside.

Jackson faced her. “I want him inside today.”

“No.”

“If he’s going to be any use to you, he needs to be inside. I can’t leave you if you don’t agree.” When she said nothing, he softened his voice, “Come on, Sis, lighten up. I’ll buy you another lamp.”

“You won’t buy me another Calafar. It was a one-of-a-kind.”

Her hands went to her trim waist, parting the silk robe. The twins sprang forward and damn near waved, giving Jackson a generous amount of cleavage
to drool over. He’d been doing so damn much drooling lately that he was in danger of dehydrating.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, disgustedly. “I made egg soufflé last night while you were in the shower. It’s in the fridge. All you have to do is heat it up in the microwave.”

“You
made breakfast last night?”

The surprise in her voice and her appreciative smile sent another surge of heat into Jackson’s groin. He liked making her happy, and that was a dangerous thing. He swore softly, then headed for the door. “Make up with Mac, and keep him with you. He’ll do you more good than that .22 you got in your jewelry box.”

“You know what’s in my jewelry box?”

She had followed him to the door, her cream-complexion suddenly pale. “Why the surprised look? What are you hiding, Sis? You suddenly look like white paint in a blackout.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“Maybe I should go through your drawers and see for myself.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” she said more insistently.

“No whips or chains? Maybe a black leather thong?”

His teasing fell flat. “I sell silk, not a trip to the dungeon.”

Her pretty mouth settled into a full pout. Jackson had the urge to lower his head and taste her. Instead he glanced at his watch. “Get Mac in here as soon as I leave. Don’t go anywhere.
And
call me on my cell if you need something. Soufflé takes two minutes in the microwave. Fresh orange juice is in the fridge.”

“Juice? You made me juice?”

Another smile. He opened the door and stepped into the hall. “I checked with Mary at Silks. She’s going to call you. The Paris Plus supers are on back order.”

“Oh, no. The bras or the panties?”

Her innocent question sent Jackson’s gaze to the
twins.
He had never in his life wanted to touch a woman as much as he wanted to touch Sunni Blais. Touch her,
hell
—smother
her was more like it.

“Jackson, did you hear me?”

“Ah … bras.” He reached out then dropped his hand. “Let Mac in,” he grumbled. “Promise me.”

She was staring at him, her eyes searching. Suddenly she reached up and slid her hands inside his jacket to straighten his shirt collar. Patting his chest with a look of approval for her efforts, she said, “All right. He’s in. But I can’t guarantee what kind of mood I’ll be in when you get back.”

He had to get out of there. “Watch TV with him,” he offered. “He likes dog shows and the cooking channel.”

* * *

Jackson slipped into the white two-story house by way of the unlocked back door, and a hundred memories came rushing back. He glanced around Tom Mallory’s kitchen and almost expected to hear his ex-partner’s voice. But it wasn’t Tom seated at the table waiting for him. The man who had left the door unlocked and a message on Jackson’s cell phone was Police Chief Hank Mallory, Tom’s father.

They hadn’t spoken in three years. The last time had been an explosive shouting match that had ended with Hank throwing an angry punch—a punch that
had split Jackson’s lip and broken his cheekbone.

He’d worn both to Tom’s funeral two days later.

As the door banged shut, Hank brought his head around from staring out the window. “When I heard you were in town and why… I guess you’d be Chief Blais’s likely choice. He must be pretty upset over this situation with his daughter. Heard he’s laid up in the hospital, to add to his upset.”

Hank looked like he’d aged ten years instead of three, Jackson thought. He was a big man, and at one time had been athletic. But for years he’d sat behind a desk and the inactivity had made him teddy-bear soft around the middle. His hair was completely gray and the lines around his pale blue eyes told the story of a man who had lost too much in too short a time.