So what was the problem? She’d done them a favor.
Checking her keys and cell phone, she hefted the box higher in her arms and started down the uneven gravel road. Had she really just kissed the heck out of Nick Archer? Despite all the warnings she’d given herself? She could not afford to get involved with that man. She would not spiral into a relationship with no future, not when she’d finally begun to understand exactly what it was she wanted out of life.
The wind had dropped and the clouds had cleared, revealing a moon that sailed overhead like a beacon guiding her home. The waves pulsed on the shore, but gently now, the frenetic energy dampened into a calm rhythmic tumble.
An owl hooted, sending a shiver across her skin. But as she reached the edge of her driveway the security lights came on, blinding her and reassuring her that nobody lurked in the shadows. She sighed. Maybe she should get a big hairy dog like Nick had, but she worked long hours and traveled a lot. And if she didn’t have time for a dog, could she really fool herself that she had time for a child?
The adrenaline dump in her system had burned off and she felt exhausted by the events of the evening. Letting herself into the cottage, she locked the door behind her and placed the box of papers on the floor. Tomorrow a guy was coming to install an alarm that would be linked directly to a security firm. Because the cottage was so remote she’d intended to get one anyway. Knowing there was a killer in the area had just moved it up on her agenda.
Flicking on the light switch, she picked up her mail. Found nothing except bills and flyers. She threw them on the side table in the hall, picked up the box and walked through to the spare bedroom she’d set up as an office. Drysuits, octopus rigs, fins, cylinders, and dive computers took up half the space. She didn’t know why she hadn’t sold it all in Australia because there was no way she’d ever dive again, but maybe selling it would be an admission of failure and she wasn’t ready to go there yet. She’d even had the air cylinders filled as soon as she’d arrived, out of habit, out of a cold desperate need to pretend she was the same person she’d been before Dela had died.
She dumped the papers on her desk, but decided ten-thirty at night was too late to start writing a review article. There was no lecture tomorrow anyway, so she could work at home while waiting for the alarm guy to show up. Unsettled by the events of the night, she roamed from room to room, pretending not to check for would-be killers in the closets.
Emily hadn’t seemed mentally unstable during their earlier conversations. Maybe she was off her meds. Some days it seemed as if half the world used pills or alcohol to keep them sane.
Susie wandered into her kitchen, so spotless it glowed, which said more about her life than she wanted it to. Angry, she turned away. A chasm of loneliness yawned wide. She had a nice home and good friends, but there was no one to come home to at night, no one to run her a hot bath and no one to distract her from her troubles.
Why was it so hard to start a family when all it had taken when she was fifteen was thirty seconds humping against a wall? She pulled off her borrowed sweater and flung it on the bed, balled up her pants and threw them into the laundry basket with enough force to knock it over. She hated being needy. She didn’t want to be lonely or pathetic. She pulled on plaid pants and a baggy gray T-shirt, punched the pillow before turning out the light. Tomorrow she intended to start the rest of her life, beginning with a little research in how to get pregnant without a man.
Chapter Eleven
Susie came instantly awake, a soft knock on her bedroom door shooting her off the bed and making her heart pummel against her ribs. And there stood Nick, dark-eyed and grim-faced.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“You disappeared. I was worried. I needed to check you got home safe.” He dangled the spare key the Heathcotes kept in their kitchen.
“I’m fine.” Self-conscious, she propped herself up on one elbow. “How’s Emily?”
Nick lowered his hand, twirling the keys with clever fingers. She couldn’t take her eyes off the dancing metal.
“Doc thinks she stopped taking her antidepressants and had an episode. She’ll be okay once they get her meds sorted again. Have you got your stuff packed?” His tone was guarded as his eyes traveled the room.
Tired, Susie pushed her hair off her forehead. “Oh, I’m not going.” She furrowed her fingers against her scalp. “It’s nuts to think I’m in any danger.”
“This isn’t some joke.” Nick’s voice dropped. “This isn’t about me being some paranoid nancy-boy or wannabe hero. Tracy Good had her head smashed in and whoever did it put the murder weapon in your car. You work in the same place as the dead girl and you often work alone. You are on his radar.”
Susie gritted her teeth. She wanted to shout at him to leave her the hell alone like she had earlier that afternoon, but she held it together, maintained the illusion of composure. “I’m not playing games, Nick. I want you to leave.”
“Well, I can’t do that until I know you have some sort of security in here!” His voice shook the ceiling. She narrowed her eyes. Repressed emotions were not Nick Archer’s problem. He made no sound as he advanced toward her. “I know what you’re scared of.”
She wanted to laugh but his eyes were locked on hers and she couldn’t force the air past her lips. “Go on then, oh great detective genius, let’s hear it. What am I scared of?”
“You’re scared of letting anyone see behind the cool, highly-educated Susie Cooper façade.”
Bullshit.
He moved closer and her heart thumped hard as she gripped the plain white coverlet.
“What’s the matter, Susie? Scared you’re going to turn out to be just as flawed as the rest of us?”
Her focus sharpened, but she said nothing. Why should she care what he thought?
“What is it about the real Susie Cooper people won’t respect or admire?” He stood over her and brushed the pad of his finger down her cheek. It felt like a teardrop.
She batted his hand away. “I thought you had work to do? Evidence to go through?” She was annoyed with him, annoyed with kissing the heck out of him earlier.
“It’ll wait. I need sleep otherwise I’m going to fall over.” Undeterred by her glare, he ran his hand around to the nape of her neck, freed her hair from where it was trapped beneath her shirt. “I doubt your secrets are as black as mine.”
Oh God. How did he even know she had secrets? How did he see her so clearly when people she’d known for years had never even guessed she was less than what she pretended to be? She met his gaze and knew what he wanted. Her to spill her guts. To tell him every dirty little confidence he thought she hid. Except it wasn’t some minor indiscretion, it was a great big sordid screwup that had led her to abandon a baby.
And she might not have the right to claim the title of mother, but she wasn’t going to barter her child’s happiness to gain Nick’s trust. If Darcy Cooper ran for president, Susie’s son could be in danger, and she would never let that happen.
“I don’t have any secrets, Nick, but if we’re going to swap fairy stories, why don’t you start?” She’d been raised around the best poker faces in the world, but he smiled as if he knew she was lying, and the room suddenly felt too small as he hunkered down in front of her, their knees brushing.
“I was raised by a priest.” He caught the back of her head with one large palm, drew her close, his breath on her lips. “And my mother was a whore.” And then he kissed her.
Dammit.
The feel of his body beneath her hands was amazing. Energy that had simmered and seethed since she’d first seen him ignited. He was everything she didn’t want—dangerous, arrogant and sexy as hell. The taste of him weakened her resolve not to get involved, and his mouth fed the sensuality she’d never quite been able to destroy.
Men like Nick thrived on the chase. No way he’d stick around for a relationship or to raise rug rats. They’d have sex and he’d move on to the next willing victim. His fingers
stroked her collarbone, her pulse jumping as his thumb grazed her skin. Anticipation was as strong as the desire he aroused. She wanted this. She hated herself, but she wanted him anyway.
Maybe she should just do it? Get him out of her life? A farewell fling before she settled down to a new life. Why not? Why the heck not?
She drew him to lie on the coverlet. His hand slid to her hipbone and hers crept around his neck, absorbing the lean hard muscle, enjoying the heat of his body. His eyes narrowed into thin slits that revealed only thoughts involving her naked.
And it thrilled her.
It meant nothing and yet it filled her with power. His teeth scraped the skin of her throat, shooting her pulse into high gear. His palm slid down her body, cupped her between the legs and she moaned. His weight, his scent, his clever hands crammed all the needy places inside her. He touched her through the cotton, used the material to caress her. Her thighs trembled and her head fell back as everything contracted to that single point of contact and her mind exploded and reverberated around the universe.
When she opened her eyes he was staring at her and all she could see was a desperate need and terrible loneliness.
Something changed. Some indefinable chemistry inflamed. He pulled her shirt over her head and before the cool air hit her skin his hands had her nerves dancing. They kissed harder, deeper, driving each other crazy.
This man knew his way around a woman’s body and he wasn’t afraid to use it. He caught her hand beneath her back, pulling her up and into him as he tasted her. The sparks and vibrations were too good to do anything but enjoy. She groaned when he released her, squirmed as he blew a warm breath over damp skin. It was impossible to lie still when all she wanted was to touch him the way he was touching her.
She grabbed his sweatshirt, pushed it over his head, did the same with his tee and admired his body as he sat back and tried to free the tangled mess. Lean six-pack abs contracted under her hand. His chest was sculpted and covered in a sparse sprinkling of golden hair. Her appreciation turned to unease. She wasn’t even close to perfect. Her boobs were flat and her butt wasn’t. Her soft contours contrasted sharply with the naked perfection of his.
Nick looked at her and smiled, an interested light entering those keen eyes. “What are you thinking?”
She looked away. “Nothing.”
“Susie, Susie.” He grinned and Susie had the disconcerting sensation he’d slept with so many women he was an expert on how they thought. “I’ll take a wild guess, shall I?”
His eyes flashed with mischief. The man was incorrigible.
“You’re worried about your body?” He traced a finger from the tip of her nose down the center of her torso, a welt of sensation running in its wake. She held her breath as his finger rested just south of her navel. Her whole existence centered on that hand, expectation controlling her body like a puppeteer controlled a marionette.
“You’re thinking you’re either too fat or too thin, and don’t ask me which because…” his eyes slid to where his fingers slipped inside her, “you look bloody perfect to me.”
She shook, she told herself it was from cold even though she burned. Quickly he stripped them both of their remaining clothes, sheathing himself with a condom before he moved over her, pushing her knees apart.
Oh God. She panicked. “I’m not ready.”
She didn’t think she would ever be ready for Nick Archer.
The expression on his face told her she was a liar. His hipbones collided with hers as she felt him, a hard ridge against her. She quivered, her fingers clawing at the bedspread when they really wanted to cling to him. She squeezed her eyes shut just as the wide tip of him kissed her opening. Her breath came in tiny pants, sweat building just beneath the surface of her skin as she held back from taking everything she wanted. He didn’t move, but she could feel the racing of his pulse intimately against her hips.
Oh God, move, move. She wanted to plead. He was doing nothing to arouse her except skin-to-skin contact and drenching her in his scent. She bit her lip, knowing she was close to begging. But he held back, taking his weight on his elbows, until she opened her eyes and saw those green depths staring at her with laughing amusement.
“Ready yet?” He nudged against her and grinned.
She closed her eyes and shook her head, knowing she was never going to be ready for this man. She saw that now. Maybe she could make this the most boring sex he’d ever had so he wouldn’t want a repeat performance. So his eyes would stop following her whenever they were together and he’d stop touching her with those intimate little gestures. And maybe then she’d stop wanting him.
His hand slid between them, his fingertips brushing soft petals of skin and making desire ping through her senses. She gritted her teeth to keep from arching into his palm, her traitorous nipples bunching tighter like little red flags of lust.
“Do you have a problem with sex, Dr. Cooper?” he asked, his lips bussing a hot path along her carotid artery, his shaft pulsing thick and heavy against her thigh. “Or is it just with me?”
Oh God, did she have a problem with sex. She wanted to squirm and take him in one big thrust. So much for self-control. She blinked.
“What do you mean?” she asked, innocently.
“I mean, Dr. Cooper…” He nibbled one earlobe, making her stretch beneath him, her legs opening wider as he sank against her. His caresses felt better than anything had in a long time. “…I’ll respect you even if you enjoy it.”
Chagrin stole through her as she admitted, “I figured if we had dull sex you wouldn’t hang around.”
He leaned back on his elbows, the movement sliding just the tip of him inside her. He closed his eyes, every feature strained as he hissed out a breath.
“Oh boy.” The sensation of him being almost there made her muscles contract and her fingers scrabble.
Sweat beaded his brow as they stared into each other’s eyes. “I don’t do long term, Susie. Don’t make any sacrifices on my account.”
Of course he didn’t. She held his gaze for a moment longer, then shifted her thighs wider, determined to take what she wanted from this man the same way he was taking from her. He drove into her forcefully, proving she was more than ready for him, and she was lost.
Clinging together, they writhed, tangled, entwined. He grabbed her hands, pinning them above her head. His other hand slid beneath her, raising her hips off the mattress, and the effect was intense as he drove deeper. A waterfall of sensation bombarded her, each touch more enthralling and compelling than the last. They reeled, twisted, ended up on the floor with him beneath her, a million pinpricks of pleasure dancing all over her skin.
She stared down at him. Naked. Aroused. Invulnerable. Hers for one night…She sank onto him slowly, twisted her hips as she rode, his eyes burning as bright as atomic fission. His fingers took their turn clutching her hips, but she controlled the pace and set the rhythm. She felt her release build in a slow avalanche of wonder and kept riding until his eyes rolled back and he cried out.
The moon set, the stars faded, and cold settled in, but neither spoke. They slept.
“Nick, what’s the status on the investigation?”
He jumped, then blinked at his boss who’d caught him thinking about sex and the satisfaction of being a well-used male, rather than evidence and motive and murder.
In her black-and-white uniform Superintendent Pamela Richardson looked soft and cuddly as a panda bear, but she had fangs the size of a butcher’s blade. Her corkscrew curls were rigidly controlled by plaits and pins, not one hair out of place on her super-efficient head. The supe was as straight as gravity in a world of procedure and anal-retentive standard operating procedures and the God-almighty handbook. Nick, on the other hand, was more of a Celtic knot.
“Ma’am.” Nick nodded. He’d known her for twelve years now. They weren’t exactly friends, more like collaborators, but he respected her and he didn’t respect many of the brass.
“Cut to it, Nick. I w
ant to know what’s going on.” She perched on the edge of Ewan’s desk.
“Forensics are going over the stuff in Dr. Cooper’s car. D.S. McKnight is there right now—” he checked his watch, “—to see what they’ve come up with.” He was lying. Ewan was working from home because Amy’s care-worker had the flu and he hadn’t been able to get a replacement yet. But no way was Nick dropping his pal in the shit.
The supe watched him with cool hazel eyes and a fixed smile. Nothing much got past her.
“Any viable suspects other than Jake Sizemore?” she asked.
He didn’t trust her modulated tone. She knew Nick’s history with Sizemore because twelve years ago he hadn’t yet learned to keep his trap shut. Nick didn’t need a lecture on impartiality from anyone and it wasn’t as if they had unlimited manpower. He was doing the best he could.
“DNA from the semen samples should give us IDs in a couple of days, providing we have a match from the volunteer samples we got from the Gatty. We’ve conducted preliminary interviews with the guys we know Tracy was shagging and executed search warrants for their places of residence. But we still have no evidence and no motive except rumors she was playing around with a married man.”
He blew out a frustrated breath. As far as he could tell Tracy Good had had no enemies and no friends. He picked up a pen and tapped it on a sheet of paper he’d been writing notes on. His boss straightened some files on Ewan’s desk. She wasn’t housekeeping. She was stalling.
“What about the lecturer who found the murder weapon in her car?”
“Her I can rule out.” His smile was as thin as a blade. Nobody touched Susie, not even his boss. “She was with me on Saturday night.”
Nick held the supe’s gaze and let her think they were up to fun and games even then. “I borrowed her car to drive to the murder scene.” And please God don’t let the murder weapon and Tracy’s bag have been put in the boot when he was doing his B&E, because it was bad enough they were going to find traces of the dead woman’s blood in the driver’s footwell.
Sea of Suspicion Page 13
