He pulled her into his embrace and nothing else mattered but the fire he ignited inside. She took his kiss and gave it back to him, his mouth a wonderful mixture of soft lips and morning stubble. They were about to make love. It was pointless to try and pretend otherwise.
“Think we can make it to the bed this time?” she asked, still wrapped in his arms.
He smiled. “Right this way.”
Following him, Jamie’s heart beat faster with every step she took; through the foyer, up the stairs and down the hall. The first time they’d made love, he’d caught her in an emotionally vulnerable state. Their intimacy had been spontaneous; unplanned. This was different. Deliberate. She’d been kidding herself when got behind the wheel of her Jeep, pretending she could be alone with him and not end up in his bed. Subconsciously, she must have known all along what she was really coming here for. She’d spent two-and-a-half weeks away from him, and she couldn’t make it another day.
They reached his bedroom and she stopped, taking in the details of his inner sanctum. The furniture was mahogany and simple in design. A large-screen TV hung on the wall opposite the bed. A watercolor by Dali hung on a side wall near a sitting area. Nick loved Dali. A Barcelona chair and matching ottoman, with black leather cushions fashioned onto a steel-and-chrome frame, made up the sitting area. A shiny steel magazine rack with old issues of Architectural Digest had been placed beside the chair.
Jamie saw no signs of Janelle in the room. No photos. Nothing feminine. No sign of a vanity. No dressing table in the dressing room, visible through an open door to the right of the sitting area. How long ago, she wondered, had he purged Janelle’s things from his house?
Her gaze fell finally on the four-post, king-sized bed. Unmade. She studied the white sheets and blankets pushed halfway down, and imagined Nick sleeping there, his naked body slid between the sheets.
He stepped behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist and leading her over to the bed. “You okay?”
She sat down, allowing herself to look at him. “You mean except for my jack-hammering heart and sweaty palms?”
“Yes.” He grinned. “Except for that.”
“The rest of me is fine.” Although she’d apparently gone insane. Second-guessing her decision, however, wasn’t in the cards as Nick unbelted his robe and let it fall to the floor. The night they’d been together at her apartment had been dark. She hadn’t really appreciated his masculinity. Bathed in the morning sunlight of his bedroom, she took a good, long look. Dark hair covered his broad chest and flat, muscled stomach, offering proof of the regular workouts he spoke of. She allowed her gaze to sweep farther down. He was large. Really large. She’d felt it when he’d first made love to her. Felt it with every thrust inside her. Staring at the fullness of his erection, she now had a visual memory to go with the physical one. She responded to the sight of him with moist excitement.
“See anything you like?” he asked.
She smiled. “Pretty much everything.”
Grinning, he joined her on the bed. “Now that I’ve shown you mine, how about you show me yours?”
She answered by pulling her t-shirt over her head. She purposely hadn’t dressed up for this visit, thinking that would discourage him from wanting her. How silly of her. All she’d accomplished was ensuring she had fewer clothes to take off.
He grabbed hold of her, and between stolen, hungry kisses, they removed the rest of her clothing. Nick pulled off her shorts. She unhooked her bra, and he took off her panties. His mouth never seemed to leave her body, and the room filled with heavy breathing.
As soon as she lay fully exposed, his mouth found her lips, slid down her neck and over her breasts. Every touch sent an electric current shivering through her. Their first pairing had been urgent and without foreplay. Now Nick took his time. Kissing. Massaging. Licking. Between his mouth and his hands, he satisfied her every craving, while simultaneously creating new ones. Kissing her while one hand massaged her breasts and another parted her legs. Slipping his finger inside her, he dragged his mouth from her lips, spreading a line of kisses down her throat until his tongue circled her breasts. Slowly. Sending agonizing pangs of need through her. Working two fingers inside her, his mouth moved from her breasts to her stomach, his tongue licking a trail from her belly button down, leaving a wave of desire in its wake. Pulling his fingers from her, he parted her legs wider, allowing his mouth and his tongue to take their place. He took his time, letting the moistness of his tongue wash over her and slide over her most intimate areas.
“Oh, God.” Jamie writhed, her hips moving in a slow up and down motion until she could no longer contain the anticipation.
“Now.” She begged. “Take me now.”
Nick raised his head from between her legs and smiled. “Soon. But first, it’s my turn.” Sitting up, he guided her mouth to the swollen shaft of his erection.
Obliging, Jamie licked the eight or nine inches of his organ, sliding her tongue along its length. Moving deliberately; taking as much time with him as he had with her. Then taking what she could of him into her mouth. Nick closed his eyes. A low, rumbling groan escaped him. She continued on, tasting, pleasing him, until he lifted her face, breathing hard.
“Now,” he said, and rolled her onto her back, positioning himself between her legs. He entered her with a slow, deliberate movement that stole her breath, delving into her an inch at a time. Discarding the urgency he’d taken her with before and moving languorously, rocking into her with a steady rhythm. Withdrawing and pushing back in. Painstakingly slow. She let go all pretense of resistance, joining with him, meeting each movement of his hips with one of her own. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she stroked her fingers through his curls, not yet dry from his morning shower. She closed her eyes, allowing the rest of her senses to take over. The clean smell of his freshly-scrubbed body mixed with perspiration. The slight dampness of his chest hair tickling her breasts and stomach as he rubbed against her, producing a delightful friction that dampened her to his every touch, yielding her to the movement of his rock-hard organ inside. She lost herself, matching his heavy breathing with panting of her own, until she felt the stirrings of ecstasy pull her in. “Oh, Nick.”
He slowed for a moment, pausing to kiss her. “My love,” he whispered, and thrust deeply back inside.
It was all Jamie could stand. She held tightly to him, letting her passion wash over her. As she felt his hard maleness opening her up and letting go inside her, Jamie knew she had lost control completely. Nick hadn’t just torn down her wall, he’d obliterated it. In the end, her heart didn’t care what her head wanted. She was in love.
Afterward, lying in his arms, instead of bliss, she felt sorrow. No matter what he said; no matter what her now-defenseless heart said; her head told her a happily-ever-after for them was a long shot.
Lying beside her, Nick stroked her hair. A smile stretched across his face. “What are you thinking?”
And there it was; reality crashing down on them. How could she stay here with him and wait for him to realize his mistake and discard her? Wouldn’t it be better to walk away first? Keep her dignity intact? “I’ve been offered a job at E! News,” she said. “I’m thinking of accepting it.”
“You can’t be serious.” The happiness on his face turned to shock, hurt and the first signs of anger. “What about us? Didn’t what just happened between us mean anything to you?”
There didn’t seem to be any way to make him understand. “More than you know, but that doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly started to believe in fairy tales.”
“What’s wrong with fairy tales?” He sat up. Hurt and anger dislodged the tenderness from his face.
So much for basking in the afterglow. Jamie got out of his bed and dressed, pulling her shorts and t-shirt on and not bothering with the lingerie. “They’re not real, Nick. Why can’t you see that? I’m just trying to keep us both from being hurt.”
“Make any excuse you want,” he said. “The truth is,
you’re afraid of letting someone get too close to you.”
“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you.” She didn’t look back as she stormed out. Couldn’t.
Afraid? Right. She hadn’t been afraid of anything since she was five and thought there were monsters under her bed. She was realistic. Nick was letting his grief go to his head. They’d probably both be better off if she took the job at E! and left.
Giving him her word to help find Janelle’s killer had been a huge mistake.
Chapter 63
Two murders and two mysterious disappearances later, Sarge had managed to eliminate a short list of suspects. What she hadn’t managed to do was come up with a list of credible suspects to replace them.
She carried with her a list of four names: Janelle Tyler-Beck, Patrice McKenzie, Pearl Arnold Watson and now, Darla Arnold. All either dead or MIA. Very few people had any connection to all four. Peter Arnold, Rod Skinner and Nicholas Beck were three who did. And all three had solid alibis for at least the first killing. Any one of them could have hired some thug to do their dirty work. Or there was another player in this game. One whose identity remained hidden.
First on her day’s agenda was to look into the latest disappearance. Darla Arnold’s neighbor, George Salazar, had called the station yesterday, concerned the girl hadn’t been seen in almost three weeks. Peter Arnold denied having had any contact with his daughter in that time, and claimed to have no knowledge of her whereabouts. That left it as a missing person case. One Sanchez could have, perhaps, handled. But something about the latest disappearance didn’t add up. The building manager reported seeing someone who matched Darla’s description leave late at night, carrying what looked to be an overnight bag, but her car remained housed in the parking garage and there was no record of Darla taking a taxi, a plane, a train, or even a bus, anywhere in the last three weeks. Either the manager’s eyesight was failing, or Darla had left with someone else. Possibly under duress.
That brought Sarge to the first person on her list the girl might have left with, Rod Skinner. His house was a twenty minute drive from the Coral Gables police station. A brick bungalow overlooking the beach, with plenty of security and foliage to shield it from public view. Exactly the kind of place she pictured the guy favoring. She rolled her police cruiser to his security gate and hit the button.
Seconds later, a voice answered. “May I help you?”
She recognized his cocky voice at once. “It’s Sergeant Freeman with the Coral Gables Police Department, Mr. Skinner. Mind if I come in and chat with you?”
Her question was greeted with a lengthy pause.
“We can do this here or at the station.”
“What do you need to speak with me about?”
Threatening to drag their asses into the station usually got their attention. “I have a few questions for you regarding Darla Arnold.”
“What about her?”
“It seems she’s come up missing. Her neighbors have filed a missing person report.”
Finally, the gate opened, creaking and inching its way back, allowing her car to pass through. Rod was already at his front door when she pulled her cruiser up to the end of the drive. Clad only in a pair of swim trunks, he looked ready for a day at the beach. His bulging chest and six-pack abs boasted of time spent at the gym. Must have been there a lot lately, with no porn studio to run.
She parked the cruiser and exited the vehicle, pulling off her sunglasses as she neared his front door. Staring the guy in the eye would ensure he knew she meant business.
“Sarge.” He stuck out his hand. “You’re making that uniform look good as always.”
“Save the flattery, Mr. Skinner. I told you the last time we talked I won’t fall for it.”
He smiled, his signature grin pasted on his face. “Doesn’t mean you don’t look smoking hot.”
“Great. You going to invite me in?”
He hesitated, and her radar switched on. Guy was hiding something. After allowing the question to waffle on his face for a moment, he shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “Sure. Come in. I’ll get you some coffee.”
“I don’t need any coffee, Mr. Skinner.” She followed him inside the house. “Just answers.”
“Come this way and I’ll get you some coffee anyway.” His voice boomed loudly in front of her.
“There’s no need to shout, Mr. Skinner. I’m right behind you.”
He turned to look at her, cocky grin still plastered on his face. “Sorry. I thought you were still at the front door.”
Sure he did. Guy was either dense or up to something. She scanned the area, taking in the details of his house. Not a thing appeared out of place. He was either an OCD neat freak, or the cleaning lady had just come through. And she didn’t remember passing Merry Maids on her way over.
He escorted her to the kitchen and went to work making the coffee she’d already told him she didn’t want. After opening two cupboards he found the one with the coffee mugs, and nearly spilled the coffee grinds dumping them into the filter. And not once did he look at her. He was nervous; definitely hiding something.
She waited until he had the coffee brewing and pulled out a chair. “Sit down, Mr. Skinner. You keep up all this nervous work of yours, and I’m going to have to take a valium.”
“Nervous? You mistake my hospitality for something more, Sarge.”
The denial sounded in his words, but not his voice. Even his chuckle sounded nervous. Glancing around the sunny kitchen, she noted two bowls and two juice glasses, cleaned and sitting in his dish rack, along with two spoons. Reality clicked in as soon as she saw them. “Why didn’t you just tell me Darla was here, Mr. Skinner? It’s hardly a criminal offense.”
The guy’s mouth dropped open, his head slowly shaking from side to side, but he never got the lie out of his mouth. Darla appeared in the doorway before he could speak, a silky, knee-length robe wrapped around her and belted at the waist.
“Don’t blame Rod,” she said. “I made him promise not to tell anyone I was here.”
The girl’s showing up certainly put a new spin on things. “Mind telling me why you’re hiding out here, Miss Arnold?”
Rod jumped to her defense. “As you can see, she’s not missing. So you can go back to the police station and close your file.”
“You’re right. I could,” Sarge agreed. “But I’d like to know what’s going on. This have anything to do with your father’s arrest, Miss Arnold?”
“That’s none of your business.” Rod answered for her.
“It’s okay, honey.” Darla held up her hand to quiet him. “We might as well tell her.” She looked at Sarge, her round, dark eyes welling with tears. “Peter Arnold is not my biological father,” she said. “And he used that fact to justify having sex with me from the time I was fifteen until I was eighteen and moved out.”
“Oh.” Sarge found the chair she’d pulled out for Rod, and sat down. These were the days she hated her job. “What about your mother?” she asked. “Did she know about the abuse?”
Darla shook her head vehemently, tears sliding down her face. “Of course not. She would’ve done something about it if she’d known.”
“So I guess your father’s arrest comes as no surprise to you.”
Darla shook her blonde curls, taking a seat at the table beside Sarge. “I’ve been hoping for years he would get caught and go to jail.”
“But you never called the police yourself.”
“No.” Darla looked to Rod, as if seeking support, and then back to Sarge. “I know it sounds lame, but I was just too afraid of him.”
“It’s okay.” Sarge reassured the girl. How many times had she heard those words coming out of a young victim’s mouth? More than she cared to remember. “Fear of their abuser keeps a lot of victims silent.”
Darla nodded, while looking at the floor. Sarge looked over at Rod Skinner, feeling an admiration for the guy she never expected. “I’ve got to say, Mr. Skinner, when you first came to
me with information about Peter and the porn studio I thought you were just looking to keep your own ass out of hot water. I guess there’s a little more to you than I gave you credit for.”
He finished making a cup of coffee and set it in front of Darla. “Thanks, Sarge. I appreciate that.”
“You think it’s possible Peter’s involved with the murders of Janelle Beck or your ex-wife? Or the disappearance of Darla’s mother?”
He and Darla exchanged glances and shrugged their shoulders in unison. “We’ve been talking about that,” he said. “And we’re just not sure. Patrice knew about his appetite for younger women. I told her about it one night when she was whining about how unsuccessful she’d been in getting his attention. Although at the time I hadn’t realized just how young he wanted them. And he had no love for Pearl. But he really didn’t have anything against Janelle. It was Nick he hated.”
“That’s true enough.” Sarge thought for a moment. “Did your father use drugs, Miss Arnold?”
Darla shook her head. “No. He hated drugs. Thought they robbed men of their virility. Except for alcohol, which he doesn’t really consider a drug.”
“If you’re looking for drug information, you might want to have a chat with D-bag,” Rod offered.
“The guy that worked for you at the studio?” She wondered why he’d never mentioned it before.
“Yeah, him,” Rod said. “Only he didn’t really work for me. Peter hired him. Said he had to in order to repay a favor to someone. And I’m pretty sure D-bag was using while he worked there.”
Now there was information she could use. She got to her feet. “Looks like we’re done for now. Thank you for your time. And, Miss Arnold, I’m very sorry.”
Chapter 64
Gossip (Desire Never Dies) Page 26
