His teeth found her neck and nibbled. She shook her head in frustration.
“Do you want me?”
She nodded.
“You don’t come until I tell you to come.”
His voice was raw. Gage slid his moist finger across her lips.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered. “Suck my finger.”
Her hot mouth pulled his finger deep into her throat.
“Do you want my cock?”
She nodded desperately. Holding her legs open wide, he swiftly buried himself, pounding into her in a savage rhythm. Frankie writhed against and with him as he continued without restraint, each hard stroke driven by the force of his lower body. His fingers coiled in her hair. Hot and fast, Frankie climaxed violently, her body shaking, inner muscles clenched and clasped as she suckled his finger. He hammered into her with an aggression she met equally and exploded into her womb.
“Mine,” he growled. “Only mine.”
His hands gentled on her as sanity returned. Gage kissed the nape of her neck. She was damp with sweat, barely moving. Gage sat up and looked around. The linens beneath them were drenched. He quietly rose from the bed, tugged on discarded sweatpants and walked back to his own quarters.
Chapter 13
DISHARMONY BAY
“My grandfather told me to never waste an erection.”
Damon and Frankie stood side by side, doing the breakfast dishes that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher. She washed while he dried. Up to her elbows in lemon-scented detergent bubbles, she scrubbed furiously on a blackened frying pan. As was the custom, he was steering their conversation in his favorite direction.
S-E-X.
“Do I dare ask what other pearls of wisdom your grandfather imparted?”
“He said that I’d better use it as much as I can while I’m young, because in a few years it would stop working the way nature designed it.”
“Really?”
Damon nodded his head. “Scary, huh?”
“Almost as frightening as the public bathroom in the fourth avenue Mini-Mart,” she replied in all seriousness.
“Yep, I second that one. Grandpa also says that the older I get, the worse it will be. By the time I’m sixty, instead of getting a semiannual hard-on,” he paused for a better grip on the slippery plate he was drying, “my sex life will deteriorate to an annual, semi hard-on. Nowadays, gramps is a happy camper if he can seduce some woman into fixing him a sandwich.”
“What a grim legacy,” she replied. “You don’t think the malfunction was triggered by overuse, do you?”
“No way. It’s not a malfunction, it’s a genetic thing, some hereditary form of planned depreciation.”
“No more jollies after age sixty, huh?” Frankie made a pained face. “Maybe you should put the gun to your head right now.”
Damon missed the mockery in her voice and kept right on talking about what a ladies man his beloved grandpa had been in his prime. Frankie looked up. Across the room she met Gage’s wicked smirk, directed at her. A clear reminder of just how hard he had been when he snuck into her bed the night before. Was he trying to drive her crazy? Surely he knew how much she craved his touch? How terribly she wanted him. Looking into his cool green eyes, Frankie was certain he knew exactly what she was thinking. She glanced away.
“So,” she interrupted Damon. “I heard a rumor that your buddies at Station New Harbor have a new pair of night vision optics that they’ve been using to spy on the patrons of the Oceanview Bed and Breakfast.”
Damon grinned, showing brilliant white teeth.
“It’s not a rumor,” he confirmed. “They’re the most righteous binoculars on the market. Real quality optics made in Germany. Impressive.”
“And the B and B guests?”
“Oh, the guests, yeah. Well, every night some of the guys take the inflatable out to check the channel marker buoys.”
Frankie handed him a dripping pan.
“Any chance to get some practice navigating is a good one,” she said nonchalantly.
“Did you know there’s a hot tub on the deck of each suite? The place just screams extramarital sex. Fireplaces, champagne, foam mattresses that don’t squeak. The nightly rates are orbital because every businessman on the coast wants to take his mistress there. I did some checking and found out there’s a reservation waiting list almost two months long.”
Frankie tried not to take the bait. “How long have you been spying on the guests at the B and B?”
“Spying is a strong word,” Damon corrected.
“What description do you prefer?”
“Audience participation.”
“Audience participation?” she echoed.
“You know what I’m talking about. Voyeurism. They perform and we watch. We are providing a highly valuable service to the residents of this community. The guests have sex on the balcony all the time and they do it because they know we’re out there. It turns them on to know that we’re watching them.”
“You need counseling.”
“I’ve got a better grip on reality than most people twice my age,” he answered.
“You’re too young to be so perverted.”
Damon shrugged his broad shoulders and smiled. “I started early.”
Frankie changed subjects.
“How are you coming along on our little bet?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he answered.
“Really?”
“I shagged Claire last weekend.”
Frankie dropped a plastic bowl into the sink. It bounced twice before she caught it.
“Call her if you want a preview,” he said defensively. “But she’ll probably tell you all about it at your next alcoholics-un-anonymous gathering. I know how you girls love to talk.”
“What?” she recovered quickly. “Your think the Sisterhood compares notes about your family jewels and prowess in a public setting? That would be extremely bad form, don’t you think? Sort of like spying on the hotel guests of the local B and B. And for your information, we are not alcoholics.”
“Oh no?” Damon laughed out loud. “You and your girlfriends have a gravitational pull towards tequila stronger than anything I’ve ever seen. It’s almost cosmic.”
“You’re only twenty-four years old,” she countered. “You haven’t earned the right to make that kind of brash generalization.”
“I may be young, but I’ve seen more than my fair share of drunk, rowdy women and your Sisterhood ranks right up there.”
Frankie closed her eyes and prayed Sophia would be stronger than she had been. Her body clenched and ached at the thought of Gage’s caresses. She longed for more. Whatever point he was trying to make, he’d done it. The man was in her blood. She was at her wit’s end.
Frankie took a steadying breath and shook her head to clear it. She missed the good old days, the amiable banter, the teasing and laughter. She floated back on the memory of all that had passed between them. More than anything, she wanted her friend back.
Lately he had managed to find a way out of getting cornered. Every time she worked up the nerve to seek him out, she found him unapproachable. Exercising with Damon, helping Quinton or running the beach.
Gage was forever running the stupid beach.
Busy. Busy. Busy.
Had he started training for a friggin’ triathlon or something? For a man who normally had tons of spare time, Gage Adams seemed to be keeping himself overly occupied lately. If she didn’t know better, Frankie would have thought he was ignoring her.
The VHS radio crackled and Seaman George Harvey hailed them. Gage glared at the radio and grabbed the microphone.
“Go ahead, New Harbor,” he spoke succinctly.
“Harmony Bay, we just received a medical distress call from the charter vessel Mathilda May.”
Frankie and Damon looked at one another and shrugged. The scanner had been silent for hours. They hadn’t overhead a distress call.
Quinton poked his head in from the
garage to listen.
Seaman George continued, “Their skipper land-lined us to report one of his passengers complaining of severe abdominal pain. He has requested immediate assistance and possible medical evacuation.”
Quinton’s sun-bleached eyebrows lifted skyward. Damon stuck his finger in his mouth and crudely mimicked the act of vomiting. Frankie gave him an elbow in the ribs.
Gage scowled at them.
The Mathilda May was known within the boating community as a “puker”. The streamlined motorboat was part of a small fleet working the tourist population. Frankie immediately understood why their skipper had used his cellular phone to place the call for help.
Competition was stiff amongst the tourist boats and reputation was everything. Gray whales migrated north up the coast to feed all summer before they returned to the Baja Peninsula in winter to mate and give birth. Landlubbers paid exorbitant prices to ply the waters alongside them and snap a few pictures.
It was early March, the whale-watching season had just begun and the fleet had a standing policy, a money-back guarantee to all of its clients. A whale would be sighted or their fees refunded. The result was a three-hour high speed, zigzag chase across the waves in search of the appropriate mammal. By the time a whale was spotted, most of the customers onboard were too seasick to hold their cameras steady.
Gage remained aloof while he scribbled coordinates.
“It figures,” Damon groused as he suited up. “It wouldn’t be March without a flight to a puker.”
Quinton snapped the chinstrap of his helmet.
“Look at it this way, mate. At least we’re getting it over early in the season.”
Frankie grabbed her helmet. “Let’s go guys. Maybe we can make this call the fastest of our careers.”
Damon’s head bobbed as he walked. “Get in, get the patient, get out.”
Frankie redlined Stella to the boat. Quinton lowered Damon on the hoist in record time while she and Gage steadied them above thirty dismal sightseers below.
“Looks like a bunch of Martians down there,” Quinton exclaimed.
“I bet next time they’ll rent a wildlife video and stay home.”
A six-foot swell combined with choppy waters to pitch and toss the boat about in constant, disorganized motion. Even some of the Mathilda’s crew had also turned a putrid shade of green.
“I’ve never seen Damon work so fast,” Gage piped up.
“Forward three. Prepare to hoist,” Quinton instructed.
“Damn!” Frankie looked out her side window. “I don’t see much movement in the litter. Is it possible to barf yourself into a coma?”
“Why don’t you ask the Sisterhood next time you’re powering down those pitchers of margaritas?” Gage teased.
“I’ll do that.”
Frankie felt a thud in back of the helo.
“Boom stowed. Ready for flight,” Quinton calmly announced.
She worked the controls. They landed at the hospital while Damon was still giving a radio report to the ER personnel.
* * * *
The call to stand down from the inland wildfire came later that afternoon. Damon answered the phone and took the good news. “Awesome! Glad to hear it,” he spewed to the fire boss on the other end of the line. “You’re welcome. Anytime you need us, we’re here for you, man.” He disconnected and whooped for joy.
“The blaze is under control,” he announced. The others gathered round to find out the cause of all the hoopla. “They don’t need us anymore. Both the injured smokejumpers are going to be okay.”
Frankie cheered and gave him a big hug.
“Excellent.” Quinton high-fived Gage.
Damon paused in the celebration to launch an idea. “Hey, there’s a new Greek restaurant in town that just opened this week. Why don’t we drive into New Harbor for dinner?”
Quinton rubbed the grit out of his eyes. “Sounds good to me, mate. I don’t think I can take another night of your cooking.”
“Count me in,” Frankie spoke. “I’ve got a bad case of cabin fever.”
Gage gave her a strange look.
“How about you, LC?”
“Sure.”
Within seconds, all four had piled into their official white van and headed south with Quinton behind the wheel and Damon riding shotgun. Frankie rolled down her window and enjoyed the crisp air. Beside her, Gage stared out the opposite window, his thoughts concealed behind reflective sunglasses.
New Harbor was bustling.
They hit the town limits and listened to Damon’s running narration.
“Make a left on Monroe and follow it to the end of the street and turn into the first parking lot on the right,” he said and glanced at his watch. “I hope we miss the dinner crowd.”
“No worries, mate. We’ll miss them.”
Quinton turned and punched the accelerator. Damon’s head snapped back. Up ahead, an orange and gold marquee marked their destination. They raced into the gravel parking lot and skidded to a halt. Damon was out of the van, scurrying to reserve a table before the dust had settled.
Frankie shook her head.
“I wonder what percentage of his monthly income is devoted to groceries?” she mused aloud.
Quinton grinned in the rearview mirror. He set the parking brake and got out.
“If you really want to know, I’ll bet he has an entire computer file devoted to it,” Gage answered and slammed the van door shut. “It should be easy enough to find. It’ll be the only one with more megabytes of information than his sexual conquest list.”
Quinton started chuckling.
“Conquest list?” Frankie asked in awe. “He keeps track of all the women he has, um,” she struggled to find the right words, “had liaisons with?”
Quinton’s laughter turned into guffaws that doubled him over.
“Liaisons?” Gage eyed her incredulous. “This isn’t Elizabethan England, Frankie. What Damon has are called ‘one-night-stands’.”
“Are you telling me he keeps a running tally of them on the computer?”
“Of course he does.”
Her face wrinkled into a frown. “What about the potential one-night-stands?”
Gage nodded. “And all the ones who got away.”
Quinton turned heads with his laughter.
“Damon considers all information useful and saves it for later dissection and deliberation.”
“You’re kidding.”
Gage gave her an over-the-glasses look. “I’m not kidding. He’s a meticulous record keeper. Everything he’s ever done is in a file on his laptop.”
“I can’t believe this! Why didn’t I ever know about this?”
Their boots crunched gravel as they walked.
“Haven’t you ever wondered about all those hours he’s on the computer each day?”
“Well, I just figured he was doing a continuing education project.”
Gage stifled his own laughter.
“He’s farming, Frankie. The kid has a network of contacts that would put the CIA to shame.”
Frankie trudged across the parking lot and did what she often did when she didn’t know what else to do.
She kept her mouth shut.
* * * *
Mediterranean spices and sultry perfume permeated the restaurant. From concealed speakers came the subdued sound of Middle Eastern folk music.
They were hustled to a C-shaped booth by a thin man with ink-black eyes that never wavered from Frankie. She scooted in, sandwiched between Gage and Quinton. Damon handed her a menu.
“I want one of everything,” she stated without looking.
“That’s called a sampler platter,” Damon spoke.
“That’s exactly what I want, along with a small order of spanakopita.”
“Span who?” Quinton asked.
“It’s a spinach and feta cheese pie,” Gage answered.
Quinton wrinkled his nose. “I’m not eating anything I can’t pronounce the name of.”
> Damon spoke above the noise of musicians warming up. “Hey, it sounds like we’ve got live entertainment tonight.” He thumbed a leaflet on the table. “Belly dancers too.”
Frankie watched Quinton’s face as he perused the menu.
“Do you want me to order for you?” Frankie asked.
“Abso-bloody-lutely. Get me something with red meat in it.” Quinton scratched his head. “Why isn’t this menu in English?” he complained.
“Because we’re in a Greek restaurant,” Gage interjected.
Frankie was giggling when the waiter came back to take their order. She had to raise her voice to be heard above the music and tinkle of cymbals.
“Whoa!” Damon exclaimed. “Check it out!”
She glanced up to see two sequin-covered mammaries jiggling in time to a drum solo. She widened her field of vision and found that attached to those impressive breasts was an exotic beauty methodically whirling her way through the crowded tables directly towards them.
Large, almond eyes, heavy with black kohl, peered out from behind a veil. Waist-length coils of black hair twinkled with jewels that caught the light in a prism of colors.
“Look at her,” Damon groveled. “Now that is one hot babe.”
“Down, boy,” Frankie warned.
It was impossible not to look at her. Dressed in flowing layers of chiffon and embroidered silk, the woman’s serpentine movements were outrageously sensual. Frankie was caught in the same spell as everyone else in the restaurant. They all stopped to gawk as the exquisite dancer shimmied across the glossy parquet floor.
Heading right to their table.
Drawn like a moth to flame.
Frankie held her breath.
“Here we go again,” she whispered and shook her head.
The dancer halted directly in front of Gage and glided into a series of carnal undulations that had every male heart in the restaurant working double-time. Sliding her talented pelvis in circles, the dancer’s hips looped into a mesmerizing figure-eight pattern. Sinuous arms, adorned with snaky copper bangles, plied the air in time to the music.
Frankie glanced at Gage, swallowed hard and gave herself over to the first harsh waves of resentment.
Guarding the Coast Page 15
