by Luna Joya
“Casa Oceana. That’s what Price called the mansion.” They kept their voices low in the quiet residential neighborhood, though the wind would likely muffle them.
He’d seen the photos she talked about and read the articles with details from the grand jury investigation. He’d spent as much time researching Sunny Sol for Cami as he had any historical lead for Joe’s screenplays. Sam didn’t need a guided tour right now so much as to know why she’d looked unhappy when she came out to see him.
“Something happen this morning at your apartment before Bogart and I got there?” He changed places with her to take the brunt of the next gust.
Her gaze snapped to his face before searching the hillside, then back again. “Yes. No. I don’t know.” She lifted her hands to tuck messy curls behind her ears but had to push back his sleeves first. “When I went to deadbolt my door on the way out, the key wouldn’t go in. It’s like the mechanism stuck. Or broke. I had it installed less than a year ago, and it’s been working fine until this morning.”
A chill having nothing to do with the weather went down Sam’s spine. “You know I still haven’t figured out how the safety latch got broken under the sink in my office with Bogart that day. He stays sound asleep under the desk or on the balcony most of the time.”
She frowned. “Do you lock your office?”
“No.” They walked the winding uphill road to the garage. “It’s a big suite. I use the rear office and balcony. Lottie keeps her stylist stuff in the rest. The only access is up from the restaurant. Or the locked back door.” He looked over the guardrail to the ocean below. “We had deliveries in the morning. Someone could’ve snuck in, I guess.” They took the curve to the left. “Who’d want to hurt Bogart? Hell, who’d even know he was there?” He shook his head.
Expensive homes towered on either side of them with professionally manicured landscapes jutting up the hills and obscuring the dim light. Cami shivered. He needed to stop freaking her out on a darkly shadowed street, climbing to the garage where a woman had died.
“Your sisters seem cool.” Maybe if he got her talking, it’d distract her.
She relaxed against him. “They’re awesome.”
Before she could ask about his own family, he continued. “What about your parents? You close to them?”
“No one is close to my dad.” She sounded resigned to the fact. “His first wife, Susan, rocks. Ruby and Delia take after her. All my sisters and I call my mom Ama, which is our Mexican shorthand for mommy.”
“What’s Ama like?”
They headed into another curve in the road, looping back and up. “Ama’s the best. She runs her doula practice and sells a line of hand-crafted soaps and candles, but she still makes time to keep us all in line. Don’t get me started on her cooking. She makes tamales for Christmas better than any presents under the tree.”
“Nice.”
“Everyone loves Ama. She draws people in.” Her voice trailed off, carried into the wind.
“So your parents still tolerate each other?” His own parents had stayed married whether or not there was any love left.
She nodded, and her curls bounced against his jaw. “Dad and Ama have been married over twenty-five years now. When he bothers to come up from his work, he is devoted to her.”
An angel trumpet tree loomed over them, glowing pearly in the morning mist. “Ama must have some sort of supernatural hold on him. Some kind of charm or spell.”
“She might.”
He’d been joking, but she sounded so serious. “Do you have any gifts like that?”
“Absolutely not.” Her words tumbled out, and she picked up the pace.
Sam chuckled. “Don’t be so sure.”
They rounded the final curb to the dead end in the road. A sign read “Formillo Way.” They stood before the double garage doors with a smaller entrance and mailbox to the right. Huge walls stretched to either side, giving the mansion a looming appearance in keeping with the gothic hand-carved “Casa Oceana” sign above the garage doors.
Sam swallowed hard, unable to keep up the flirtatious banter in such a somber place. Cami walked to the garage door on the right, not touching the heavy studded panel designed to look like it would’ve kept invaders out of a fifteenth century castle.
“The apartment above it.” She indicated the trio of windows over the doors. “The restaurant manager lived there.”
Sam nodded. “Sunny’s V12 in the Packard would’ve been a noisy engine, but if she hadn’t opened it up all the way, and if the wind had been blowing like this…” He shrugged.
She wandered around the entrance a couple more minutes before heading down the hill, quiet and pensive.
“You want to try and get a look at the mansion someday?”
“Yes. Although I can’t exactly walk up and ask to look inside.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You said yourself, even the garage has become a macabre tourist attraction. No one wants strangers marching up to their door.”
Especially not the woman who still scanned the streets when they were together, sympathized with break-ins and burglaries from almost a century ago, and worried about her deadbolt. He slid his hand down her back to ease away the fear in her voice and nudged her toward the restaurant’s impressive entrance with intricate tile work he’d bet was original to the building.
Construction trucks now lined the road leading from the restaurant’s small parking lot up the hill to the north.
“Sam!” A grey-haired man with work boots and a heavy tool belt called out to him.
“George, man, how you doing?” Sam introduced Cami, and George told them to feel free to wander the inside of the building. He’d be up on the roof doing tile repairs if they needed anything. Sam thanked the man and promised him a meal on the house the next time he stopped by.
George shook his head. “No need. What are friends for? Now, if you could get Lottie to help my wife find a dress for her class reunion, I’d be in your debt.”
Sam said he’d see what he could do. He and Cami followed George inside before the man continued up the staircase. The large open space, broken up only by columns, would’ve been the dining and cocktail area for the café. Sam steered Cami around power lines, equipment, and debris. The kitchens must’ve been a cramped, hot area to work in with none of the modern conveniences he took for granted.
They moved upward, where Coral’s upscale restaurant would have been, through an open courtyard, and past large arched windows before climbing to Sunny’s apartment.
“Sunny would’ve had so little privacy.” Cami ran her fingers along the metal balustrade. “But the 360-degree views are pretty amazing. I can see why gambling outfits were after it.”
Some of the rooms had been stripped to studs, but Sam could imagine from photographs how the place had once looked. He checked the time. He still had twenty minutes, but they’d seen enough to bring the spaces to life when they researched.
They’d made it to the second floor when Sam heard Bogart barking and howling. Cami raced out of the building and across the street, not bothering with the pedestrian bridge. Sam chased after her, opened his mouth to tell her to be careful, and closed it again when he saw his rear tire was flat.
He let out a string of curses, but Cami’s concern centered entirely on Bogart. She crooned to the dog, stroking and comforting him.
Shit, he couldn’t even make it through another date without something going wrong. He moved to get the jack and spare tire from the back. Stripping out of his shirt, he got to work. His restaurant was only a mile down the road. They’d be fine on the smaller spare until he could get a replacement brought out during the day.
As he finished changing the tire, he looked to where Cami sat on the curb with Bogart’s head in her lap. Her hand clutched her necklace.
He swore. “I promise my life isn’t this messed up. My norm is restaurant, home, ocean, back to the restaurant.”
She stared at his naked torso, blinked, and focused again on his face
. “I don’t think it’s you.”
Hallelujah, saved by the six-pack. At least Cami didn’t blame him, even if he felt like a dating fail. “Damn bad luck is what it is. You still okay to spend the day at the restaurant?”
“Yeah.” She ran a hand down Bogart’s ears. “But if it’s all right with you, I’ll lock the door to your office suite.”
A big wave smashed against the beach, drawing both their attention.
“You want to go surfing with me sometime soon?” None of the craziness. Just the two of them and the water.
She grinned and went back to ogling his abs and tattoos. “I’m in. I’ve got next weekend off.”
“Next Saturday, then. I can arrange to start at the restaurant later in the morning.” He put his shirt on, pausing only a second to flex for her. “It’s a date.”
Chapter Nine
An hour later, Sam’s frustration had him deflated worse than his flat tire. He’d never had problems with concentration when it came to his restaurant. At least four mornings every week, while the prep staff worked in the kitchen, he hit the office to review receipts, supply lists, and inventories. He didn’t pull many all-nighters at work anymore, and he employed a capable assistant manager, but the need still clawed at him.
A very different need clawed at him now, with Cami sprawled on a lounge chair at the open door of the balcony. She had a cold drink, a stack of books, Bogart asleep next to her, and the morning sun on her bare toes.
She didn’t seem to share his trouble with focus, so absorbed in her reading she alternated between biting her lip and chewing on the cap of a pen. He stared at her mouth and lost his place in the order again.
After their tour of Sunny’s restaurant this morning, she’d slicked on bright pink lipstick that begged to be smeared. In his office, she’d shrugged out of his flannel jacket and tugged off her tights to reveal a strappy sundress.
He wanted her happy, safe, and relaxed, but he also longed to hike the little dress she wore up above her hips and bend her over the desk. She slid her legs beneath the flimsy fabric and reached for a different veterinarian journal. The sweep of bare thighs against each other damn near had him snapping the pencil between his fingers. He bit back a growl.
“Stop that or I won’t get food orders in for next week.” His voice came out lower and more forceful than he’d intended.
“Hmm?” She continued to flip through pages and reached again to pull something from the floor. The dress inched farther up her skin. He counted backward in his head, focused on next week’s surf date, the flat tire repair, ingredients for upcoming specials, anything to stop thinking about her legs.
On a curse, he exhaled the breath he’d been holding. Almost an hour wasted with supply orders barely finished couldn’t be a good sign.
“You okay?” he asked her as he shut down the program and started for the kitchen.
“Yep.” She slipped on headphones and closed her eyes. “I’ll take Bogart for a walk later.”
Sam shook his head at her easy dismissal. The rush of the kitchen and restaurant got his mind back where it belonged as soon as he hit the bottom of the stairs. He remembered to send breakfast to her a couple of hours later. He’d meant to do it earlier, but the morning rush kept him busy. It should’ve been enough to know she was nearby, camped out in his office with his dog among his things, but it wasn’t.
Their relationship had been easy. Too easy. Cami seemed happy with anything he did for her. Anything at all, he realized with irritation as he seated some regulars. Cami didn’t come across as simply low maintenance. She had low expectations. He’d struggled not to take advantage of that when the desire to touch her made him crazy.
What had happened in her past with the ex-boyfriend she’d mentioned? Did she not want a serious relationship with work, the board certifications, and family? Or worse. Was it him? The possibility raised old fears of being unwanted.
The way she startled and carried herself like someone might dare to strike her, he’d question her attraction to him. Except she responded to him as though she craved it as much as he did when they touched. He had gone slow to give her some space, some time.
He straightened. Maybe his little fantasy of foreplay on his desk was exactly what they both needed. It’d been almost five hours since he’d sent her breakfast.
“I’m taking a break,” he announced and prepared a heaping plate of food. He whipped up the creamsicle mimosa he’d made her the day they met. Smiling in anticipation of what might come, he unlocked the upstairs suite and carried a tray through. He’d expected her to be asleep. Instead, her whiskey and gold eyes stared alert the second he opened the door to his office.
“I brought you lunch.” He set the food on a bookshelf, high enough to be out of reach for Bogart.
“But you made me breakfast.”
“Hours ago. You’ve got to be starving.” He pulled a bottle of water out of the mini fridge to add to her tray. “It’s nearly three in the afternoon.”
“No.” Cami glanced at her phone in surprise, then stood to stretch. Her dress inched upward. “It smells good.”
“An original Corraza’s recipe.” He tracked her movements as she set her headphones aside and checked on Bogart where he slept on the balcony.
“A meal not out of a box or a can.” She met him by the desk. “You can’t beat those relationship perks.”
He stroked her cheek and was rewarded when she stilled beneath his touch, her pupils dilating to swallow all but a ring of gold. “Is the food really the best part of us?”
He could’ve sworn her breathing quickened, but she quipped, “No, your dog is pretty great too.”
His fingertips trailed along her jaw. Her skin was so soft.
“That for two?” She nodded toward the tray.
“Nah, I grabbed a bite earlier.” He moved his fingers to massage her neck, finding small knots, and tried to soothe them away.
She leaned into him. “Thanks for this.”
“I brought you a creamsicle mimosa.” Reaching for the glass, he pulled the long spoon from beside a straw. “It’s still too thick to drink. I wasn’t sure how long it’d be before you could get to it.” He held the spoon to her lips, cupping his other hand beneath it.
Her mouth fell open, her eyes slid shut, and a murmur escaped as she savored and swallowed. She licked at the sticky sugar remaining on her lips with the tip of her tongue. Damn, the temptation of her taste drew him in. He brushed her mouth with his own, savoring her natural rich sweetness chased by bright orange. Sam decided this mimosa rated as his best ever.
Stroking his thumb against her jaw, he smoothed light kisses from her temple to her closed eyes. Her breath hitched. A tiny, significant noise. He trailed fingers down her cheekbones to her neck before pulling away. She opened her eyes, blinked in confusion, and reached for him. It was all the encouragement he needed. He stepped back only to shut the door, and the relief apparent on her face would’ve been amusing if not for the desire that shot through him when he saw a wicked shiver race down her as he tripped the lock to the room.
In two steps, he gathered her body to him. His hands lowered to the hem of her dress and slipped it upward, his calloused palms rough and catching against the back of her soft thighs. She fisted her hands in his curls. Those dragging fingertips scraped so good against his scalp, and he wanted more. Now. He needed to stand between her thighs, to grip as much of her naked skin as possible, to mark and to own.
He slowly slid his hands up to cup her ass and bit back his delighted shock at finding bare softness covered in only a lace thong. Breaking contact long enough to shove paperwork onto the floor, he lifted her on top of the desk. The cold wood must’ve been a shock after the warmth of him because she gasped. He locked his lips against hers to swallow the sound. The orange mixed with the scent of her tickled his nose.
“So good,” he whispered against her. “You always taste like sugar. Do you taste so sweet everywhere?”
Her sigh was
the only answer. She parted her lips, and he inched back with a teasing grin. She nipped at him. Sam sucked her tongue in his mouth for a forceful tangle, and Cami’s moan filled his head. This. This is what he’d been missing. Relentless yearning overwhelmed him with the need to dominate.
He managed to keep control until Cami kicked the sandals off her toes and hooked bare feet around his legs, bringing him flush against her body and between her thighs. His woman was fierce and passionate. He couldn’t get enough. She bowed upward against him. There was still too much fabric keeping them apart.
He shoved up her dress. She pulled at his shirt at the same time he slid his grip from her ass to tug on the lace of her thong. Her quick fingers flew to his chest and struggled against the buttons there. He heard her suck in a ragged breath as she pushed the shirt down along his biceps. Her sexy sounds had him close. Too close. Too fast.
Sam exhaled heavily and said aloud the words circling in his mind, not caring how crazy he might sound. “Why do you remind me of the ocean? The same thrill and intensity? Like crashing toward home.”
She froze, staring at him with eyes wide and unblinking. Damn it. He’d gone too far. Someone had hurt her before, and now somehow he’d said too much. He had to slow down.
He skimmed fingertips at the lace of her panties. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
She shook her head, her body relaxing around him. “Don’t you dare.”
He hooked his hands around her legs to pull her closer, wider. He inched his fingers back to the lace, darting in and then pulling away.
“Now?” He breathed against her temple.
“No. I want this. I want you.”
Her gaze followed the direction of his hands. Lower and lower.
“Come for me. Right here on my desk. Now,” he whispered. The shake of her head became frantic, curls bouncing hard and fast.
“I can’t.” She wet her lips with her tongue, and Sam zeroed in on the movement.
