by Sandra Brown
“This scene runs for about fifteen minutes,” Collins explained. “After the come shot, it switches to two broads in a bathtub getting each other off. Then it’s got your basic domination scene with—”
“I get it,” Smilow snapped. “Turn it off.” He ignored the boos and hisses from the other men in the room. “Sorry, Steffi.”
“Don’t be. Detective Collins’s little joke at my expense merely supports my theory that the phrase ‘adult male’ is a contradiction in terms.”
The other men laughed, but Collins harrumphed, unfazed by the put-down. “Here’s the kicker,” he told them. “Pettijohn’s boast about state-of-the-art security was so much hot air. The cameras on the guest room floors are bogus. Dummies.”
“What?” Steffi exclaimed.
“The only working camera in the entire complex is in the accounting department. Pettijohn didn’t want anybody stealing from him, but I guess he didn’t care if his guests got robbed or bumped off. The joke’s on him, huh?”
Smilow asked, “Why did the kid lie?”
“That’s what he’d been told to do. By big bad Pettijohn himself. We’re not talking about a rocket scientist here, so he held tough even after we assured him that Pettijohn was dead and that the only thing he had to fear was lying to us. He finally cracked. We checked it out. The cameras are shills.”
“How many people know that?”
“My guess would be not too many.”
“Check it out. Start with people in managerial positions.”
“Will do.”
Addressing the group at large, Smilow said, “First thing in the morning, we start on Pettijohn’s enemies. We’ll compile a list—”
“Or we could save ourselves the trouble and just use the phone book,” one of the men quipped. “Everybody I know will be glad the son of a bitch is dead.”
Smilow shot him a hard look.
“Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, his smile vanishing. “I forgot you two were kin.”
“We weren’t kin. He was married to my sister. For a while. That’s it. I probably had less liking for him than anyone.”
Steffi leaned forward. “You didn’t pop him, did you, Smilow?”
Everyone laughed, but Smilow’s terse, “No, I didn’t,” spoken as though he’d taken her question seriously, ended the laughter as abruptly as it had started.
“Excuse me, Mr. Smilow?”
Standing in the open doorway was Smitty. Smilow checked his wristwatch. It was after midnight. “I thought you’d be anxious to get home,” he said to the shoeshine man.
“They only just now told us we could go home, Mr. Smilow.”
“Oh, yeah.” He hadn’t thought of hotel fixtures like Smitty being detained for long hours of questioning, although he had mandated it himself. “Sorry about that.”
“Never mind, Mr. Smilow. I was just wonderin’, did anybody ’round here tell y’all about those folks that were taken to the hospital yeste’day?”
“Hospital?”
Chapter 6
The capital letter E on the instrument panel of her car flashed red.
She groaned with frustration. The last thing she wanted to do was stop and pump gasoline, but she knew from experience that when the gauge on this car said empty, it was dangerously accurate.
Service stations were scarce on this stretch of rural highway, so when she came upon one only a few miles after seeing the warning light, she pulled in and lethargically got out of her car.
Ordinarily when she pumped her own gas she paid by credit card at the pump. But technology hadn’t stretched this far into the boonies. As a matter of principle, she disliked having to pay in advance. So she removed the nozzle from the pump and flipped down the lever. She twisted off her gas cap and set it on the roof of her car, inserted the nozzle in the tank, then waved at the attendant in the booth, motioning for him to engage the pump.
He was watching a wrestling match on his black and white TV. She could barely see him through the neon beer signs and the posters taped to the window announcing outdated events and lost pets. Either he hadn’t noticed her or he was standing on his own principle of not turning on the pump until the customer paid in advance, especially after dark.
“Damn.” She relented, walked to the office, and slid a bill into the dirty tray beneath an even dirtier window.
“Twenty dollars’ worth? Anything else?” he asked, his eyes remaining glued to the TV screen.
“No, thanks.”
The rate of flow was a trickle, but the pump finally clicked off. She removed the nozzle and replaced it on the pump. As she was reaching for the gas tank cap, another car pulled off the road and into the station. She was caught in the bright headlights and squinted against the glare.
The car rolled to a stop only a few feet from her rear bumper. The driver turned off the headlights but didn’t kill the engine before opening the door and stepping out.
Her lips parted in wordless surprise. But she didn’t move or speak. She didn’t berate him for following her. Or demand to know why he had. Or insist that he get lost and leave her alone. She didn’t do anything but look at him.
His hair looked darker now that the sun had gone down, not as tawny as it appeared in daylight. She knew his eyes were grayish blue, although now they were deeply shadowed. One eyebrow was slightly higher and more arched than the other, but this asymmetric quirk added interest. His chin had a shallow vertical cleft. He cast a long shadow because he was tall. Weight would never be a problem; he didn’t have the frame to carry much extra poundage.
For several seconds they stared at each other across the hood of his car, then he stepped around the open door. Her eyes followed his progress as he came toward her. The determination with which his jaw was set said a lot about his character. He wasn’t easily discouraged, and he wasn’t afraid to go after something he wanted.
He didn’t stop until he was standing directly in front of her. Then he cupped her face between his hands and lifted it toward his as he bent down and kissed her.
And she thought, Oh, God.
His lips were full and sensual, and they delivered what they suggested. His kiss was warm and sweet and earnest. He applied the perfect amount of pressure, leaving no question that she was being soundly kissed, but without making her feel overpowered or threatened. It was such a perfect kiss that her lips parted naturally. When his tongue touched hers, her heart expanded and her arms encircled his waist.
He lowered his hands, so that one arm was free to go around her shoulders while the other curved to fit the small of her back and to draw her against him full-length. He angled his head. Hers made a countermove. The kiss deepened, his tongue probing. The longer they kissed, the more ardent it became.
Then suddenly he broke away. He was breathing hard. His hands resumed their previous position on either side of her face. “That’s what I had to know. It wasn’t just me.”
She shook her head as much as his hands would allow it to move. “No,” she said, surprised by the huskiness of her own voice. “It wasn’t just you.”
“Follow me?”
Protests died on her lips before she could even speak them.
“I have a cabin not far from here. Two, three miles.”
“I—”
“Don’t say no.” His whispered voice was ragged, impassioned. His hands pressed tighter. “Don’t say no.”
Her eyes searched his, then she made a small, assenting motion with her head. He released her immediately, turned, and strode back to his car. She dropped the gas cap in her haste to screw it back in. Finally getting it secured, she rounded her car and got in. She started her motor; his car pulled up beside hers.
He looked at her as though to make certain that she was as resolute as he, that she wasn’t going to bolt and disappear the first chance she got.
Which she knew was what she should do. But she knew with just as much certainty that she wouldn’t. Not now.
* * *
Hammond didn’t take an
easy breath until her car came to a full stop beside his. He got out and went to open her door for her. “Watch your step, it’s dark.” Taking her hand, he led her up a crushed-shell path toward the cabin. A small porch fixture provided just enough light for him to see to open the lock with the key he had brought with him from Charleston.
He pushed the door open and ushered her inside. A local lady cleaned the place whenever needed. He had scheduled her to come earlier that day. Rather than smelling musty, like an empty, infrequently used dwelling, the cabin smelled clean, like freshly laundered linens. Per Hammond’s request, the air conditioner had also been left on, so it was pleasantly cool.
He closed the front door, separating them from the porch light and plunging them into complete darkness. He had every intention of being a good host and gentleman, of showing her around the cabin, of offering her something to drink, of telling her more about himself and giving her time to adjust to being alone with him only hours after their meeting. Instead, he reached for her.
She came willingly into his arms, seemingly as eager for his kiss as he was for hers. Her mouth responded warmly to the thrusts of his tongue that stroked and tested and tasted her until he had to pause to catch his breath. Lowering his head, he pressed his face into her neck, while her hands closed around the back of his head and her fingers combed through his hair.
He kissed his way up to her ear. “This is crazy,” he whispered.
“Very.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
“You should be.”
“I know, but I’m not.”
His lips rubbed against hers in a not-quite kiss. “Afraid of the situation?”
“Terrified,” she said as her mouth dissolved against his.
Finally ending the kiss, he said, “This is rash and reckless and—”
“Totally irresponsible.”
“But I can’t help it.”
“Neither can I.”
“I want so much to—”
“I want you to,” she sighed as his hands slipped beneath her top and covered her breasts.
Any misgivings he had that the desire was one-sided vanished when her head fell back, offering her throat to his lips while he caressed her. Her breath caught and held when he fumbled with the front clasp of her brassiere, but she released a soft murmur of pleasure when his fingertips brushed her bare skin.
Her hands moved over his back. He felt all ten of her fingers kneading muscle and exploring ribs and spine. Her palms skimmed over his belt, settled on his butt, pulled him into her.
They kissed once more, a long, deep, provocative kiss.
Then he took her hand again and pulled her along behind him as he felt his way across the living area into the bedroom. The cabin wasn’t luxurious by any means, but he hadn’t sacrificed all creature comforts. Into a room too small for one, he had crammed a king-size bed.
It was across this that they fell, coming together in its center and twining around one another with the blind, mindless craving of new lovers.
* * *
She lay on her side facing away from him.
Hammond tried to think of something appropriate to say, but he discarded possibilities before they were fully formed. Everything that came to mind sounded either false, corny, clichéd, or a combination thereof. He even thought about telling her the truth.
My God, that was incredible.
You are incredible.
I’ve never felt like this in my life.
I don’t want this night ever to end.
But he knew she wouldn’t believe any of it, so he said none of it. The long, strained silence became even longer and more strained. Eventually he rolled to his side and switched on the nightstand lamp. She reacted to the light by pulling her knees up closer to her chest, if anything becoming more withdrawn and untouchable.
Discouraged, he sat up. His shirt was twisted and unbuttoned, his pants unzipped, but he was still wearing both. Getting up, he removed everything except his boxers. When he looked up again toward the bed, she had rolled onto her back and was watching him, her eyes wide and apprehensive.
“This is an awkward moment. That’s fair to say, isn’t it?”
Hammond gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed. “It’s fair, yes.”
She wet her lips, rolled them inward, averted her eyes from his, and nodded. “Are you trying to think of a graceful way to get rid of me now?”
“What?” he exclaimed softly. “No. No.” He extended his hand to touch her hair, but let it fall before it reached her. “I was trying to think of a way to get you to stay the night without making a complete fool of myself.”
He could tell that pleased her. Her eyes found his again. She smiled shyly. Still sex-flushed, her lips slightly swollen from hard kissing, her hair tousled around her face, clothes in more disarray than his had been, she looked incredibly seductive. Her breasts, freed from her brassiere, lay softly against her chest beneath her top. But her nipples were distinct against the weave. He started getting hard again.
“I’m a mess.” Self-consciously she tugged her skirt down over her thighs. Both of them ignored the pair of panties lying on top of the bedspread at the foot of the bed. “May I use your bathroom?”
“Right through that door.” He stood to leave so she would have more privacy. “I’ll get us something to drink. Are you hungry?”
“After eating all that junk food at the fair?”
He returned her smile. “How about some water? Juice? Tea? Soft drink? Beer?”
“Water’s fine.”
He hitched his chin toward the connecting bathroom door. “If you need anything, just ask.”
“Thank you.”
She seemed reluctant to get off the bed while he was still in the room, so he smiled at her again and left her alone. Thankfully the cleaning lady had stocked the fridge with bottled drinks, including water. While there, he took an inventory of staples. A half dozen eggs. A pound of bacon. English muffins. Coffee. Cream? No. He hoped she drank her coffee black. Orange juice? Yes. A six-ounce can of concentrate in the freezer.
He rarely ate breakfast unless it was a business meeting. But in the country, where the weekend mornings were longer and lazier, he liked to indulge in a hearty late breakfast. He was an okay cook, especially something as basic as bacon and eggs. Maybe they would cook breakfast together, dividing the chores, bumping into one another as they went about them. Laughing. Kissing. Then they could carry their plates out onto the porch to eat. He smiled at the thought of tomorrow morning.
“This morning,” he corrected, checking the clock and realizing that it was well after midnight.
Yesterday had been a bitch. He had left Charleston upset and angry, frustrated on many levels. Nothing in his life had been right. Never in a million years would he have guessed that such a sour day would end with his making love to a woman he hadn’t known existed a few hours ago. Nor that it would be such a meaningful experience.
He continued marveling over the caprice of fate until he heard the water in the bathroom shut off. He forced himself to wait two minutes more, not wanting to reappear too quickly or at an inopportune time. Then he grabbed two bottles of water and made his way back to the bedroom.
“By the way,” he said as he pushed open the door with his bare foot, “I think it’s time we properly introduced—”
He stopped when she turned quickly from the dresser, the telephone receiver in her hand. She hung up immediately and blurted out, “I hope you don’t mind.”
Actually, he did mind. He minded one hell of a lot. Not that she had used his telephone without asking first. But that she had someone in her life who was important enough to call in the wee hours of the morning within minutes of making love to him. It stunned him how much he minded.
He’d dallied in the kitchen, fantasizing about having breakfast with her, counting the minutes until he could return with propriety. Now he
was standing here with a dumb expression on his face and a semi-erection poking against his undershorts. And all this while she was placing a phone call to somebody else. He set the bottles of water on the nightstand.
He felt stupid and ridiculous, alien feelings for Hammond Cross. Usually self-confident and on top of any given situation, he felt like a real dumb-ass, and he disliked the feeling intensely.
“Would you like some privacy?” he asked woodenly.
“No, it’s all right.” She replaced the receiver. “I couldn’t get through.”
“Sorry.”
“It wasn’t important.” She folded her arms across her waist, then nervously dropped them to her sides.
If it wasn’t important, then why in hell were you trying to place a call at this time of night? he wanted to ask, but didn’t.
“Is it okay if I wear this?”
“What?” he asked distractedly.
She ran her hand down the front of the old, faded T-shirt. He recognized it as a fraternity party shirt from college days; it caught her midthigh. “Oh. Sure. It’s fine.”
“I found it in the chest of drawers in the bathroom. I wasn’t snooping. I just—”
“Don’t mention it.” His curt tone spoke volumes.
Her hands formed fists at her sides, then she shook them loose. “Look, maybe it would be better if I left now. We both got a little carried away. Maybe the ride on the Ferris wheel went to our heads.” Her stab at humor fell flat. “Anyway, this was…” Her words trailed off as she glanced at the bed.
Her gaze lingered there probably longer than she intended it to. The jumbled linens were a poignant reminder of what had taken place on them, and how involving and satisfying it had been. Words whispered with unrestraint seemed to echo back to them now.
While in the bathroom, she had washed. Hammond could smell soap and water on her skin. But he hadn’t washed. He smelled like sex. He smelled like her.
So when she said hastily, “I’ll just change back into my clothes and be on my way,” and made to move past him, his arm shot out and caught her waist.
She came to a standstill, but she didn’t turn toward him. She stared straight ahead. “Whatever else you may think about me, I want you to know that… that this isn’t something I do casually or routinely.”
