Текст книги "A Little Too Hot"

Автор книги: Lisa Desrochers

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

THROUGH THE SPOTS  flashing in my eyes, I see a streak of white bubbles as a splash sounds from the surface. The next second there’s a strong arm clamped around my chest, and I’m pressed to a hard body behind.

Blake pulls me to the surface and onto the stairs, where he sits, holding my limp body against his, our limbs twisted together as I gasp for air.

“I’m sorry,” he says into my hair.

I barely hear him over the pulse pounding in my ears, but the ache in his voice as he says it tears at my soul. I claw at him, burrowing deeper into his muscled chest. His arms circle me, gently at first, then more fiercely as ugly sobs start to erupt out of me. He crushes me against his body, holding me together as I fall apart, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” over and over, his lips moving on my forehead.

My last thought is that I’m suffocating without him, and then everything goes dark and I float away.

I WAKE UP in my bed and I have no recollection how I got here. . . . I was in the pool. Blake came in after me.

And now I’m in my sleep shirt under my sheets.

It’s sunset outside my window, and my hair is barely damp, so the pool must have been a while ago. My head throbs, trying to piece it together.

I pull myself to a sitting position and my head protests again.

“How are you feeling?” I look toward the door and find Blake sitting in the armchair in the corner. He still looks a little pale, but otherwise okay.

My eyes are draw to the bandage on his arm. “Good. How about you?”

“Never better.” He leans so his elbows are on his knees, and his gaze is all concern. “I can get you some coffee, or tea, or . . . anything you need.”

I swallow and my throat feels swollen. “Coffee would be good, thanks.”

He nods and stands. “I’ll be right back.”

The way he says it, like he’s afraid something will happen to me in the minute it takes him, makes me look at him funny. “Okay . . .”

He vanishes out the door, and a second later I hear him rattling around in the kitchen.

I sit and look at myself, wondering how I got into my sleep shirt. When I stumble into the bathroom, I find my jeans, tank, and bra hanging on the towel hooks to dry. But I’m in the same underwear, and it’s still a little damp between the legs.

I lean on the counter, trying to remember. Blake pulled me to the stairs. Then what?

I head out to the kitchen and nearly run into him on his way back to my room with my Alcatraz mug.

“You’re up.” He hands me the cup and I take it.

“Did you change me out of my clothes?” I demand.

He rubs his neck and turns back toward the kitchen, avoiding my eyes and my question, and that’s all the answer I need. “Are you hungry?”

“A little,” I say, following him.

He ducks into the fridge, and when he comes out with a bowl of fresh strawberries, his eyes flick to mine. “We have counselors . . . at the agency.”

“Are you going to talk to them?” I ask, slipping onto a stool and setting my mug on the counter.

He tips his head in a question. “I meant for you . . . if you need to talk to someone.”

I pluck a berry from the bowl and bite it. “About . . . ?”

“About . . . what happened. You’ve been through a lot this last month, and . . . if you’re depressed, or . . .”

“I’m not depressed.”

“Sam,” he says, fixing me in a concerned gaze, “you tried to drown yourself.”

My eyes widen as I get what he’s thinking. “What? Hell, no! I’m not suicidal, Blake! I just . . . it’s all kind of overwhelming, you know? I just needed to turn off my brain for a little while.”

His gaze turns skeptical. “By swimming yourself to exhaustion and nearly drowning in the bottom of the pool?”

I shrug. “Yeah . . . I guess.”

He shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair, grabbing onto a fistful as he breathes out a frustrated sigh. “Christ, Sam. You scared the shit out of me.”

“If I ever get out of here, I’m going swimming in the ocean.” It’s a totally random thought, but I feel the sudden need to do it. Maybe I need to prove to myself I’m tough enough to handle anything, even sharks. Even Ben.

He leans on his elbows across the counter. “I thought you were galeophobic?”

I take my mug and go to the sofa, sinking into the corner and curling my legs under me. “But life is about facing your fears, right? Isn’t that what you said?”

He gives me a slow nod, the worry in his gaze shifting to something brighter—something that might be admiration. And I realize I want it to be. I want him to have a reason to think I’m something other than a babysitting job. I want to be someone worthy of his time.

“Are you going to get him?” I ask with a sudden determination to do anything I can to help.

He moves around the counter and settles onto the sofa next to me. “Our search of Arroyo’s records didn’t turn up the smoking gun we were hoping for. We haven’t been able to find anything to directly connect him to the disappearance of that girl, and we’ve come up nearly empty-handed with physical evidence from the club that would implicate him in Weber’s murder. They did a really good job of keeping the scene and the body clean. The only thing we’re sure about is you were the last person to see Weber alive. That means he didn’t leave Arroyo’s office on his own two feet. Arroyo most likely had his goons carry the body out.”

His goons.

I know he means Marcus, but I can’t help remembering how he always had my back. He wasn’t a goon; he was my big, scary guardian angel. There was genuine concern on his face when he came out of Ben’s office that night and saw me in the hall, shaking up against the door after I’d let Blake touch me.

There’s a jolt through my body as the image forms in my head. Grease on his hands.

“Could that have been blood?” I muse out loud.

Blake leans closer, a spark in his eye. “What? Did you remember something?”

I tip my head back onto the sofa, feeling a little sick. “Do you remember hearing anything, like a bang, when we were in the VIP room together that night?”

His ears flush and for the first time he looks truly embarrassed. “I don’t really . . .” He rubs the back of his neck, chagrin settling over his features. “My memory of that night isn’t as clear as it should be.”

“I heard something outside the room, which is what made me . . . it sort of snapped me out of . . . whatever,” I say, working really hard not to let my mortification show. “A few minutes later, when I went out into the hall, Marcus was just coming out of Ben’s office. He was wiping something off his hands. I thought it was grease. There was a towel. He threw it on the floor near Ben’s door.”

Blake’s face becomes suddenly animated as he gets what I’m saying. “Was Arroyo with him?”

“Ben was yelling something at Marcus through the door . . .” I close my eyes and try to think. “He wanted him to get Devin, the other bouncer, I think.”

The elevator door clanks, and I turn just as Cooper steps out. I’d forgotten that Blake said he was coming this morning.

Blake ignores him, all his attention focused on me. “But Arroyo was definitely in the room. You’re sure of that?”

I nod.

A smile breaks over his face as he moves off the sofa. “We’ve got him.”

He relays the information to Cooper as I refill my coffee, nearly spilling it because of my shaking hands. I take it to the counter, slip onto a stool and pick at the bowl of strawberries there, even though I’m not really hungry. They shoot me a few more questions, and once Cooper has all the details, he dials Jenkins and disappears into the elevator, apparently deciding that following up the lead is more important than babysitting Blake and me.

Blake is exhilarated. “This could be our smoking gun, Sam.” He shakes his head, and I see that look of admiration in his eyes again. “I never thought it would play out like this.”

I slip off the stool, licking my strawberry sticky fingers. “How, exactly, did you think it would play out?”

There’s a full ten seconds where he just stares at my lips, but then he clears his throat. “Your prostitution charge was just to get into Arroyo’s club records. I never thought we’d be able to put him away for murder. And I never in a million years thought you’d be the key.” He steps closer and his eyes spark as he sweeps a lock of hair behind my shoulder.

“It was because of you,” I say, my shaking, amplified by his proximity, showing in my voice. “You freaked me out in the VIP room. I was in the hall trying to pull my shit together when I saw him.”

He bites his lips between his teeth and stares down at me, the spark in his eyes becoming a slow burn.

We’re less than a foot apart and I can’t stop myself from touching him. I lift a hand and trace my finger along the edge of the bandage on his arm. “Does this hurt?”

His breathing becomes shaky at my touch and he leans forward a fraction of an inch. “Not much.”

I trace the bandage up under the sleeve of his T-shirt, and goose bumps pebble the skin under my fingertip as it moves toward his shoulder. “Have you been shot before?”

His breathing stalls altogether for a beat. “No,” he finally says, lowering his gaze. He blows out a sigh, lifting his eyes to mine again, and in them I see his struggle. He closes them in a slow blink as he backs away. His hand slides down my arm and he catches my fingers with his for just a second before letting go of me. “I have some reports. There are leftovers in the fridge. I probably won’t be up for dinner.” He turns and vanishes down the stairs, leaving me standing here staring after him.

I don’t see him for the rest of the night, but I hear his music waft up from downstairs. I sneak down at one point, just to make sure he hasn’t keeled over dead, and see him on the sofa with a laptop, so I leave him alone. I know he needs his space for a lot of reasons.

I forage in the fridge and find something to take back to my room for dinner, then flip on the TV, but there’s nothing except reruns of shows that were bad the first time around. When I’m done eating, I turn it off and change into my swimsuit. I’ve got to burn off some of this tension before it eats me alive.

Just after dark I skip down the path and glance back at the house. The living room lights are on, but Blake isn’t on the balcony. I’m surprised by the pang of disappointment, until I get nearer the bathhouse and realize the light is on in the man cave.

He’s working out.

I tiptoe to the window and cautiously peer in. He’s on the bench press wearing nothing but his white bandage and a pair of loose navy gym shorts. As I watch, he lowers the heavily weighted barbell to his chest, then hikes it back up. Muscles ripple under taut skin across his chest and up his arms as he presses the weight once, twice, three times, and he winces each time as the left side of the barbell lags behind.

I want to go in there and tell him to stop. He’s not ready for this. But, instead, I find myself pressed up against the window, watching.

God, he’s beautiful.

He rests the barbell on the rack and sits up, and I step away from the window before he sees me.

I reach for the doorknob but then back away as the fleeting image of what might happen if I walked into that room flits through my mind and makes my insides tingle. The memory of those sure, firm hands on my body sends a rush of adrenaline surging through my bloodstream, and more than anything, I want to feel that again. I reach for the knob again, imagining how this will go. Between the two of us there are so little clothes, it would only take seconds before we were totally naked. Not enough time for either of us to think—to change our minds.

I hear the clang of metal and know he’s on another set. If I walked in now, what would he do?

I imagine the taste of his sweat, the feel of his hard body as he crushed himself against me. Every muscle in my belly contracts at the image of him throwing me onto the sofa and what would happen next.

Suddenly, this doesn’t feel like a game anymore. It feels deeper. And scarier. Are we both still here only because we have to be? Or is it more that we want? Need?

But I can’t want what I want. Maybe when Ben is locked away for good . . . when I’m no longer Blake’s job. But not now.

I move quickly to the pool and dive in, then swim hard, trying to swim away the need to go into that bathhouse and follow through on my desires.

When my lungs burn and I can’t move another muscle, I finally stop and float on my back, staring up at the night sky. The city lights are too bright to see anything but the brightest stars, but I remember what it looked like at the cabin. But that brings back memories of other things that happened there: Blake’s strong hands on my body, his mouth devouring mine. I close my eyes and try to clear my mind. But just as I’m starting to relax, there’s a splash.

When I first feel Blake’s hands on my waist, I giggle and kick against him, trying to pull away. But when I stand at the shallow end of the pool and look into his face, I suddenly know we’re not playing a game.

He tugs me to him and stares into my eyes with scorching intensity. The heat of his body, pressed against mine, burns me alive. His lips part and a sound of pure need escapes from them as he trails his nose along my forehead and down my temple. His lips brush over my scar, and his ragged breath in my ear stalls for a second, as if he’s preparing to whisper something private.

I pulse with the need to know what it is. I lean closer, unable to fight the urge, and I can taste his breath.

His fingers find my face, caressing my scarred cheek, then scoop around the back of my neck.

I don’t even think. I just do what I’ve been dying to do for weeks. I stretch up onto my tiptoes and press myself against him. My lips brush over his and I take his lower lip between my teeth.

He groans as his hands tighten around me, one at my back and the other at my neck, and he pulls me against the curve of his body. His mouth moves hungrily on mine, his tongue tasting and owning.

Little flashes of lightning jolt through my insides and my heart strains against my rib cage. Every nerve ending is on fire with his touch, and every part of me hums.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him closer, deepening our kiss. He responds with a low groan deep in his chest, and I’d swear the water around us boils. He grabs my hips and lifts me onto him, and I wrap my legs around his cut torso, needing to be closer, to feel every inch of him pressed against me. He backs us toward the pool stairs and lays me across them, his mouth leaving mine and trailing down my jawline, my throat, and across my collarbone.

I feel a tug at my neck, and suddenly my bikini top is floating away on the surface of the water. His lips migrate lower and I arch up and moan when they close over my breast, swirling his tongue over my tight nipple.

I’m on fire, my whole body a live nerve ending. I ache all over and I can barely breathe. As he presses me against the stairs and moves his erection against my sweet spot, I come unglued.

I let out a sharp “Ahh!” and dig my heels into his back, pulling him harder against me. I don’t care anymore about what’s right or wrong. I want Blake more then I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, and I know he feels the same.

I lift a hand and trail the tip of my finger along the curves of his chest and down his ripped abs. Every muscle feels taut under my hands, steel under silk.

His mouth finds mine again, and he moves his erection against my sweet spot, finding a rhythm. As I climb to a place I’ve never been, I can’t believe he can do this to me right through our clothes. He takes my nipple into his mouth again and gives suck as he rubs himself faster against me, and holy God, I’ve never felt anything like this. I’m vaguely aware that I’m crying out, loudly, something between a moan and a sob. And a minute later, when I come for the first time in my life, I do sob, an animal cry that doesn’t even sound human.

I’m struggling to catch my breath as he scoops me up and carries me to the house. Despite his injury, he sweeps up the stairs to my room like I weigh nothing at all and lays me on my unmade bed. He lies next to me and I curl myself around him. I burrow into his warmth, and as much as I don’t want to miss a minute of this, I feel myself drowsy with contentment. The beat of his heart, the caress of his fingers over my back, the rhythm of his breath in my hair, lull me slowly into sleep.

I WAKE TO the smell of coffee. It takes me a minute to get my senses straightened out, but then I smile when I remember where I am . . . or more accurately, how I got here.

I roll, and when I find the other side of the bed empty, the smile fades off my face.

Coffee.

He’s in the kitchen.

I drag myself out of bed, still groggy, and slip my robe on over my bikini bottoms, then go to the kitchen. But Blake is nowhere.

I fill my Alcatraz mug and suck down half of it in one greedy gulp. When I hear Blake on the stairs, I can’t keep the grin from spreading over my face. I turn, but the person who crests the top step isn’t Blake. It’s Cooper.

He looks at me, his gaze cool.

I pull my robe tighter around me, suddenly feeling naked. “Is Blake . . . downstairs?”

“Special Agent Montgomery decided he needed some recovery time. He asked me to stand in, which means you’re graced with my company for the next few days.”

A tight band wraps around my chest and I can’t get a full breath. “Recovery time?” I picture him working out last night . . . and carrying me up the stairs.

But now he needs recovery time?

Cooper fixes me in a frosty stare. “He was shot, in case you forgot.”

“I know he was shot!” I snap, guilt and dread and fear spinning my emotions into a cyclone.

He moves past me into the kitchen. “At least he had the good sense to brew the coffee before he left.”

I move to the living room, sinking into the sofa. “Is he coming back?”

He flicks me a glance. “You tell me, Jezebel.”

I lean into the cushions and close my eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Cooper settles into the armchair and sets my full Alcatraz mug on the table in front of me. “Look, Blake is a good kid, and he’s a great agent. He has more potential than anyone I’ve seen come up through the ranks for a while. If you ever repeat this to anyone, I’ll deny it, but I think Special Agent in Charge Navarro screwed up bringing him in on this case. There’s no way this isn’t going to be personal for him. His emotions are all over the place. Add Jezebel,” he says with a flick of his wrist at me, “and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.”

Is that what we are? A disaster?

I lift my mug to my face and take slow sips, breathing in the steam and letting it calm me. After a minute I stand and head to my room.

I start for the bathroom, but detour to the window. Below, in the pool, a black shadow sits at the bottom of the shallow end. My bikini top.

It happened. I didn’t dream it.

I crawl into my bed and pull Blake’s pillow to my face. He’s still here, that musky, earthy scent that’s all man. All Blake.

Does this mean he thinks what happened was a mistake?

It’s a long while later that I drag myself up and shower. When I finally cross the living room on my way to the coffeepot, Cooper is watching a WWF match on TV.

His gaze doesn’t stray from the screen as he says, “I went to check on your family yesterday.”

My eyes snap to him and my coffee sloshes over the rim. “Why?”

“After what happened at the cabin, we wanted to be sure they were okay.”

My heart’s beating in my throat as I move to the living room and drop into the sofa. “And?”

“Everyone’s fine.”

I try to swallow the ball of panic in my throat but I can’t. “What did you tell them?”

His head shakes slightly. “Nothing.”

“Mom didn’t ask how I was or anything?”

He finally pulls his eyes away from the TV. “She did.”

“What did you say?” I ask, throwing my hand in the air, exasperated.

He leans forward, his elbow on the arm of the chair. “I told her you were fine, Jezebel.”

“Oh, God.” I say, dropping my face into my hand. I can only imagine what Mom’s making out of all this.

“She wanted me to give you that,” he says, pointing the remote at a thick white envelope on the coffee table.

I pick it up and see it’s already been opened. “You?” I say, slipping my finger into the opening.

He gives me a shake of his head. “Your mother.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“No.”

“But she and Greg are okay?”

“Yes.”

Conversation with Cooper is about as informative as talking to a rock. I shoot him a glare and flip the envelope in my hand. When I see the return address, I almost drop my mug.

Lexie.