Dangerous to Touch (15 page)

Sidney reached out to take it tentatively, afraid of what she might encounter, but just as when Samantha had been unconscious on her living room floor, she felt nothing. This time it wasn’t due to a lack of extrasensory perception. The drugs and alcohol had completely obliterated her sister’s psyche.

Her face must have revealed dismay, because Samantha jerked her hand back with a muted sob. Sidney hugged her fiercely. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Besides get so wasted I don’t remember who I screwed.”

“Whoever it was, he took advantage of you,” she said, smoothing her hand down her sister’s back, feeling more bones than flesh.

“Samantha, I love you. You need help, and you need protection. If you go out partying by yourself again, I’m afraid you’ll never come back.”

Samantha pulled away, her face showing an obstinate determination to do just as she pleased, the world, and herself, be damned. Then she rummaged through her leather purse, coming up with a few crumpled dollars instead of a vial of pills. “Will you go in and get me a Diet Coke, Siddie? I’ve got such a migraine.”

Unable to resist the pet name, or Samantha’s dulcet tones, Sidney unlatched her seat belt and went into the convenience store. She was standing in the parking lot, soda in hand, when she realized that Samantha had driven away without her.

“Damn it,” she whispered, feeling the hot sting of frustration. Around its edges, panic was creeping in. Slam-dunking the soda in a nearby trash can, she dug some coins out of her pocket and picked up the grimy receiver at the pay phone.

She dialed Marc’s cell phone number from memory, having stared at his business card for so long it was stamped on her brain.

“Cruz,” he answered tersely.

“It’s Sidney.”

“Where are you?”

“At the 7-Eleven on Oceanside Boulevard.”

“I’ll be right there.”

After he hung up, she stared at the receiver in annoyance. Couldn’t men ever say goodbye? When he pulled in the parking lot less than five minutes later, she forgave the impertinence.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Samantha ditched me.”

“Why didn’t you call me before you left the hospital? And what the hell were you doing here with her anyway? Scoring some smack?”

Anger flared inside her, and she grabbed onto it, desperate to feel something other than deep, all-consuming fear. “You didn’t check in with me before you left, either,
honey.
I thought maybe you’d given up surveillance.”

Without another word, he turned onto Oceanside Boulevard and headed west, toward the beach. It was another glorious day, sunny and hot, absent of the stifling mugginess that had been pervasive during the week. Perfect weather for swimming or sunbathing, what she’d planned to do this afternoon rather than chase down runaway sisters.

The tears she’d been fighting since she found Samantha this morning, or to be more accurate, since Marc’s scathing rejection of her, threatened to resurface, clogging the back of her throat. She forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What could possibly be wrong?” she said, the hysterical quality of her voice betraying her emotions. “You’re acting like a stranger. My sister’s sleeping with strangers. My mother blames me for Samantha’s drug problems and failed marriage…”

“Your sister is a grown woman,” he said. “Older than you. Her problems are her own.” He tightened his hands around the steering wheel. “I can’t believe you took off with her.”

She studied his tense mouth. “Were you worried?”

Across the console, his eyes met hers. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

Sidney fell silent, reading the hidden message in his words. She was a burden, a responsibility, a weight on his shoulders, nothing more.

When the case was over, he’d be gone.

At home, Sidney changed into the bikini Samantha had given her and padded downstairs in her bare feet. Marc was treating her like an invalid again, placating her by offering to spend the last few hours of the afternoon on the beach.

She found him in the kitchen, putting some snacks into a basket.

“You’re going to make some lucky woman an excellent wife,” she said, more annoyed than charmed by his domesticity.

“I certainly wouldn’t make a good husband,” he admitted.

She couldn’t argue with that. Instead she dug her beach bag out of the linen closet and found a clean white sheet to spread beneath them on the sand. When she turned around, she caught him staring at her backside.

He averted his eyes, taking bottled water out of the refrigerator and giving her the chance to ogle him. Husband material or not, his bare chest was a beautiful sight. The tan shorts he wore rode low on his hips, exposing his flat abdomen almost to the point of indecency.

Or maybe it was just her dirty mind, stripping him naked.

“What happened to your other swimsuit?” he asked.

Her eyes jerked up to his face. “Hmm? Oh, that,” she said, remembering he’d seen her demure black Speedo, and everything underneath it, only a week before. “I thought you would make fun of it.”

After he checked the lock on her new kitchen window, they left, walking across a wide expanse of sand before staking claim to a free spot close to the water. “Why do you dress the way you do?” he asked as she unfurled the bed sheet on the sand. “Are you trying to hide your-” his eyes dropped to her breasts, pushed together by the triangle top of the bikini “-body?”

“Not really,” she said with a frown, looking down at herself. “I wash dogs and clean kennels for a living. There’s no need to be sexy.”

“Why didn’t you go on to vet school?”

She stretched out on her tummy, hating the way his seemingly unrelated questions painted an accurate, and not very flattering, picture of her. “Too much touching,” she replied honestly.

“Do you ever think about going back?”

“Yes,” she said, although she didn’t feel as though she was wasting her talents at the kennel. She took pride in caring for animals and running her own business. In her heart of hearts, what she truly longed for wasn’t more money or a better education, but the intangible rewards of a happy home and a loving family. “Do you ever think about having a long-term relationship?”

“Yes,” he said, surprising her. “But women tend to give up on me well before we get to that stage.”

Her lips twisted wryly. “And whose fault is that?”

“Theirs,” he said, meaning his. “Has Samantha met Greg’s girlfriend?”

Sighing, she rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes, too weary to analyze his insinuation. “I imagine so. She’s his secretary.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two?”

She squinted up at him. “Why?”

“Because like it or not, you’re part of this investigation.”

“What does that have to do with Greg? He’s no prize as a husband, but he’s not a murderer.”

“Yes, well, as accurate as your perceptions are at times, they don’t work as well with people close to you.”

Incensed, she rolled over and sat up. “Just because I can’t always read you-”

“Or Samantha.”

“She was blacked out!”

“Greg has been in love with you for years. Did you know that?”

She drew her knees up, hugging them to her chest. “He only thinks he’s in love with me because he’s a perverse asshole. He loves Samantha, he’s just too stupid to admit it.”

Marc smiled at her assessment. “Did he ever touch you, before they were married?”

Taking a deep breath, she stared out at the crashing waves, trying to channel the strength of the Pacific. “He was like a brother to me, at first. I was a tomboy, more interested in sports than dating, and he’s very athletic. We would pal around together. It was harmless.”

“Until when?”

She felt her cheeks grow warm. “Until I got breasts, okay? The same ones you’re always staring at. He would…tickle me and stuff. I finally figured out he was trying to cop a feel.”

“Is that all he did?” he asked in a low voice, although it appeared to be enough information for him to want to smash Greg’s face in.

“He grabbed me once, at the wedding reception. I struggled to get away from him, and he finally let go. After that, I made sure never to be alone with him again, or get close enough for him to touch.”

“Did you tell Samantha?”

“No. She was pregnant. They were young. I hoped they could work things out.”

Instead of criticizing her naiveté, as she expected, he remained silent. It didn’t matter, because she already blamed herself. Maybe if she’d been honest with Samantha from the beginning, her marriage could have ended more peacefully.

And maybe if Sidney weren’t so gullible, she wouldn’t have let her sister slip away this afternoon at the convenience store.

Disheartened and depressed, she lay on her stomach again. Emotionally drained from the day’s events, she let the rhythmic pounding of the waves breaking along the shore lull her into a troubled sleep.

S
he awoke to the delicious sensation of Marc massaging sun-screen into her shoulders. All but purring her enjoyment, she arched her spine and stretched like a cat.

“I didn’t want you to burn,” he said, apologizing for waking her.

“Mmm,” was the only response she could muster. The sun was hot on her back, the breeze cool against her skin, and his masterful hands on her tense muscles…they were magnificent.

When he smoothed lotion down her arms, his fingertips brushed the sides of her breasts, and her lassitude morphed into sexual awareness. Then his hands were on her legs, caressing the sensitive skin behind her knees, stroking his way up the backs of her thighs.

By the time he reached her bottom, her breasts felt full and heavy, her nipples were tight and a sweet, hot ache pulsed between her legs.

When his fingertips slid up and down the length of her spine, she closed her eyes, murmuring her pleasure. When they dipped below the waistband of her swimsuit to trace the crease of her buttocks, her eyes flew open.

“I don’t think I’m going to get burned there,” she said, her voice husky from sleep. Unless he didn’t stop, and then she would surely burst into flames.

His eyes traveled up to her face, then looked out at their surroundings. Over the crash of the waves, she could hear children playing. He jerked his hand out of her bikini bottoms, seeming to realize what he was doing, and where. “Sorry,” he muttered, rolling onto his stomach in an obvious attempt to hide his arousal.

The incongruity of his behavior baffled her. Last night, he’d brought her to orgasm with his mouth on the hood of her truck. Afterward, he’d pushed her legs apart and thrust inside her with so little forethought he hadn’t remembered to use a condom. Now, less than twenty-four hours later, he’d rather go unsatisfied than slake his lust in her again.

She inhaled sharply, feeling her throat close up and her chest grow tight with pain. Before she could make a bigger fool of herself by crying in front of him, she leaped to her feet and ran into the surf, letting the cold shock of the Pacific wash away her shame.

She didn’t know he’d followed her until she felt his hand clamp around her arm. With wild abandon, she wrenched away from him, falling headfirst into the waves and getting a mouthful of saltwater for her efforts. As he pulled her to her feet, she gasped and sputtered, pummeling his chest with her fists and making raw, animal sounds in the back of her throat.

“Stop,” he said, holding her by the forearms, his body flush against hers. “Stop,” he repeated, holding firm when she continued to struggle.

With no way to escape his embrace, or the deluge of emotions that assaulted her, she tucked her head into his chest and sobbed her frustration. In the periphery of her awareness, she felt his body tense. After a moment, he relaxed his grip on her, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her gently while she cried.

In slow measures, she began to calm, aware of her hot, wet face against his chest, her labored breathing and the pounding of her own heartbeat. The waves crashed into them, breaking at hip level then receding, lapping around their knees.

Knowing she was unattractively teary-eyed and runny-nosed, she turned away from him, cupping handfuls of saltwater to wash her face. He watched with a mixture of humor and concern in his eyes, as if he found her lack of dignity amusing.

No wonder he didn’t want to go to bed with her-she was an absolute mess.

“Lacy put a ‘be on the lookout’ for your sister’s SUV. We’ll find her.”

Rather than admit she hadn’t spared a single thought for Samantha since awakening, she sank deeper into the water with a low groan, ducking her head under the curl and swimming away from him.

He caught up with her easily. “That’s not why you were crying?”

“Why don’t you want me anymore?” she asked, deciding to make her humiliation complete.

His eyes widened. “Not want you? Are you crazy?”

“Probably,” she murmured. “This morning, you didn’t…”

It took him a moment to get her meaning. “You said I hurt you.”

She frowned at him in confusion. “You thought I meant physically?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you haven’t touched me?”

“Of course. You were acting sore. Uncomfortable. I asked if I hurt you, and you said yes. What was I supposed to do, throw you down on your back like an animal again?”

When she thought about the pain relievers and the tea, the breakfast in bed and the cold pack she’d put on her forehead, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

Once she got started, she couldn’t stop. Holding her midsection, she doubled over with giggles, only to get knocked off balance by the incoming waves. She fell unceremoniously on her bottom in the shallow water, laughing harder.

He crossed his arms over his chest, finding no humor in the circumstances.

“You didn’t hurt me, Marc,” she said when she’d collected herself, wiping tears from her eyes. “It’s not like I was a virgin.”

“You felt like one.”

Her amusement wilted. “Oh,” she said in a small voice, letting him help her up. “What did I do wrong?”

“What did you do wrong?” he repeated, as if the question were beyond his realm of comprehension. With a harsh laugh, he pulled her close, turning his back to the shore. “You were too hot,” he said, touching his lips to her collarbone. “Too tight,” he added, sliding his hands down her lower back, “and too wet,” he finished, cupping her buttocks.

“I’ll have to work on that,” she breathed, curling her fingers through the hair at his nape.

“I’ll help you,” he replied, covering her mouth with his. He kissed her slowly, tenderly, expertly, more to soothe than inflame her desire. Even so, she found herself moaning and rubbing her naked belly against his.

A wave hit her backside, cooling her off right where it counted. She laughed softly, putting her face against his warm, brown throat and stroking his shoulders until they were ready to return to shore.

Making a tacit agreement to call it a day, they gathered up their belongings and left the beach. Sidney didn’t feel her feet hit the sand once.

In the outdoor shower, they explored each other languidly, his mouth on hers, her hands gripping his water-slick back. She stripped away her bikini and he dropped his shorts, but their intimacy didn’t go beyond kissing and light touching for a long time.

“I want you in bed,” he whispered, burying his head in the curve of her neck.

She wanted him against the shower wall, but she acquiesced readily enough, needing no special intuition to realize he wouldn’t be fast or rough with her this time. Wrapping a towel around her body and handing him another, she slipped into the house ahead of him, pretty sure the terry cloth wasn’t keeping her bottom decently covered. Maybe it was cruel to tease, but the way he was looking at her, all lean cheeks and hungry eyes, made baiting him irresistible.

As they mounted the stairs, his tension was palpable.

In her bedroom, the oscillating fan whirred lazily, circulating whatever breeze was coming off the Pacific through her open window.

“Lay down.”

A hot thrill raced down her spine, turning her knees to jelly. Dropping her towel on a nearby chair, she crawled across the bed naked, watching him through half-lidded eyes. His body was truly gasp-worthy, every inch of it hard and strong. When he took away his towel, she stared at him unabashedly, wetting her lips in anticipation. It was all she could do to keep herself from spreading her legs and pulling him down on top of her.

Setting a different pace, he stretched out beside her and kissed her moist lips. He cupped her breasts, pushing them together and tracing her cleavage with his tongue. He licked and sucked at her nipples until they were wet and rock-hard.

“Marc,” she moaned, reaching out to curl her hand around his throbbing erection.

He let her stroke him for a moment, closing his eyes, as if her touch pained him. Then he brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed the center of her palm.

Desire flowered between her thighs, hot and sultry.

Moving down her belly, he dipped his tongue into her navel, dropped a kiss on her hip, nuzzled the tops of her thighs. When he finally put his mouth where she really wanted it, his tongue was indolent, his touch designed to heighten, rather than assuage, her arousal.

“Oh, please,” she breathed, lifting her hips.

To her intense frustration, he came up beside her and kissed her mouth again, stroking her parted lips with his tongue, sharing her taste. Easing a hand between her thighs, he explored the seam of her sex, separating her with his fingertip before he slipped it inside.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured against her mouth, sliding his middle finger in and out of her while she gasped and writhed. Then he withdrew, grazing his slick fingertip over her clitoris, barely touching her. With a feather-light motion, he rubbed her back and forth, using only enough pressure to drive her crazy.

Beyond self-control, she rocked her hips in a steady rhythm, straining toward ecstasy. When he replaced his hand with his mouth again, she begged for mercy, and he gave it to her. The instant his tongue came in contact with her sensitive flesh, she climaxed, lacing her fingers into his hair and screaming her pleasure.

Apparently drawing out the sensation also intensified it. Her scalp tingled, dark spots flashed behind her eyes and her pulse throbbed a wild beat in her throat.

Now
that
was an orgasm, she thought, resting her head on the pillows.

Before her vision cleared, he parted her legs and entered her slowly, bracing his weight on his outstretched arms. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you last time?”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Yes.”

“When I first came inside you, you tensed.”

She smoothed her hands over his sweat-slick shoulders, realizing what maximizing her enjoyment had cost him. “It had been a while,” she said, touching her lips to his. “And you are rather…large.”

Groaning, he began to move inside her, drawing himself in and out with deliberate precision, letting her feel every inch. She knew he was holding himself back, and that made tenderness well up inside her, along with a renewed excitement.

Last night, in the cab of the pickup, he’d been hard and rough and uncontrolled, and she’d loved every second of it.

Tonight, she had time to savor an experience that transcended physical sensation.

They melded, mouths and hearts and bodies. They rolled, him on top, then her, coming close to the brink, then edging back. He put her leg over his hip and took her on her side, facing him, always touching full-length, damp skin sliding against damp skin.

She stroked his back, his shoulders, his sinewy arms, his taut buttocks. He did the same, exploring every part of her, flicking his tongue over her tight nipples, brushing his thumb over her wet clitoris. She lost track of how many times he brought her to orgasm.

When she couldn’t take it anymore, she straddled his waist and moved up and down on him with sinuous motions, milking him with her body, demanding his release.

“Sidney,” he grated, gripping her undulating hips, trying to slow her.

“Let me,” she murmured, moving faster, repositioning his hands on her bottom. Cradling his head to her chest, she let her breasts muffle his hoarse cry as he came.

Marc trailed his fingertips down Sidney’s naked back, watching the room grow dim as evening fell. She wasn’t asleep, but he wished she was, because every bachelor instinct he possessed was telling him to flee the scene.

He never slept with a woman after sex. Sometimes he stayed long enough for her to drift off, but he usually didn’t bother. It was part of the convenience of using condoms. He had to get up to dispose of it, and then he was gone.

Why he was still lying beside her, not exactly cuddling, but caressing her, was a complete mystery to him. An anomaly. An aberration.

The sex had been…different, too. Better than last time, and last time had been amazingly good. For him, at least.

He’d remembered to use protection. He’d shown a little more finesse, and a lot more restraint. Somehow, the experience had gotten away from him all the same. God, he’d almost wanted to weep when he came, the pleasure was so intense.

He must have overdone it. Held himself back too long.

“I have to go to the kennel,” she said finally, stretching her arms over her head.

“Fine,” he said, rolling out of bed as if he’d been waiting for an excuse to get up. Which he had been. Hadn’t he?

He watched her dress as he pulled on his own clothes, finding her yellow cotton panties and simple white bra impossibly alluring. Her baggy Bermuda shorts hung down to her tanned knees, and a blue dolphin arced across the front of her Sea World T-shirt.

His lips curved into a smile. At what point had her lame, sexless fashion sense become quirky and endearing? The answer hit him like a bolt of lightning: the same time he’d fallen in love with her.

For a moment, he was too stunned to move. He just stood there, his hands frozen at the fly of his jeans, as panic assailed him.

She sat on the bed to put on her shoes, oblivious to his plight.

He turned, buttoning up his pants and grabbing his T-shirt, every nerve in his body on red alert. He had to get out of here before she saw the dopey, lovesick expression on his face. He had to get away from her before she
touched
him.

Flipping open his cell phone, he strode out of Sidney’s bedroom.

“Lacy,” she answered, sounding breathless.

“I need you to do some surveillance.”

He heard another woman’s voice in the background, a muffled giggle. “On whom?”

“Sidney. Meet us at the kennel in fifteen.”

“I just got off,” she groaned.

“You can get off again later,” he promised, hanging up.

He was shoving his cell phone in his pocket when Sidney came down the stairs, looking so positively dewy with female satisfaction that he gritted his teeth against the renewed urge to take her back to bed and screw her senseless.

After a few moments of silence inside his car, her pleasant afterglow faded. “What’s wrong?” she asked.