Storm Warning

by Toni Anderson

  “Over here…” The voice sank inside her skull and she jerked around, falling on her backside as though she’d been kicked in the chest. The specter of the man she’d called Daddy stood near the gable end of the attic. The butterflies in her stomach morphed into dive-bombing gannets. Just when she’d figured he was never going to face her, here he was. The air felt cold and clammy. Her breath came short and fast. She put out a hand against the slanted roof to combat sudden dizziness, unable to take her eyes off him. His features weren’t sharp, but they were etched with years of misery and an eternity of hell.

  “What do you want, Daddy?”

  “You.”

  The sound came from far away, but landed directly inside her mind.

  “You…”

  A sob built up in her throat, but she held it back. She edged closer, using the hard beams of the roof for support. She was scared of the phantom of the man she’d once adored, but she was more terrified of not finding the answers she needed.

  “I love you, Dad,” she whispered. “I love you and I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

  Grief and desolation screamed through the layers that separated their worlds. His fingers struck out as if to grab her. She flinched, wanting to run and scream, but her legs couldn’t cooperate. He shifted to embrace her and she closed her eyes, raised her face to the ceiling, praying, as the ghost of her father slipped through her body.

  He invaded her mind, like ice crystals forming and piercing the fragile tissue, trying to dig deeper inside her consciousness. She screamed. Fought and wrenched her mind free, crumpling in a heap among boxes and scattered junk.

  Footsteps bounded up the ladder. Ben stuck his head through the hatch, gave the attic a sweep with his eyes, but her father was gone, leaving nothing behind except cold dirt and cobwebs.

  “My father’s ghost. I saw my father’s ghost.” Her mouth felt parched and her lungs punched air rapidly in and out of her chest. She wrapped her arms over her head and cried. “I can’t do this anymore!” Strong arms held tight, as she tried to retain her sanity. A solid chest cradled her face as she keened.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sorcha rested her back against the garden wall and stared down the rocky shore toward the sea. The stone retained some of the day’s heat and she huddled into it gratefully. The sun was low in the sky, blinding if you looked west. Only 4 p.m., but already evening was falling. Another long day on the road to Perdition.

  Ben hadn’t laughed at her. She’d told him she’d seen her father’s ghost and he hadn’t openly derided her. It didn’t mean he believed her, but it helped.

  Hugging her knees, she wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders. It was time to face facts. She needed professional help. Wouldn’t that look great on her C.V.? Six months psychoanalysis to stop seeing ghosts. Or exorcism? Somehow she didn’t think the Church of Scotland went in for that sort of thing.

  Swallowing hard, she forced herself to relax, concentrated on the sea and its serenity. It calmed her. It had always calmed her.

  There was nobody on the rocks, not even school kids, though plenty of boats cut the blue skin of the water. Brightly colored sailing craft caught the wind and tacked at breakneck speed. Cruisers chugged back to the harbor before dark. A couple of fishing boats pulled lobster creels near the shore.

  The garden gate creaked and she glanced over her shoulder, squinting against the brightness of the sun. Ben stood there, shockingly handsome in a pale-blue checked fleece and worn-out jeans.

  “I finished the locks.” He offered his mug but when she took it, she realized it contained whiskey, not tea. She took a sip anyway and he sat down beside her and stretched out his legs.

  “Thanks.” Her dream man always brought her breakfast in bed on a Saturday morning—naked. But Ben Foley was not her dream man, although he made a really nice fantasy. And if she kept her mind on him, she wouldn’t have to remember how it felt to feel her father’s spirit touch her soul.

  Their shoulders brushed, a frisson of heat sparking between them. She shifted away. Didn’t want this awareness but was powerless to stop the attraction. How did you turn off a magnet? How did you switch off the sun?

  The biologist in her knew sexual chemistry made the world go around, but the woman in her recognized the peril and wanted to pretend it didn’t exist.

  Easier to stop and ride the moon.

  He had a two-handed grip on his mug. The liquid rippled as his hands shook. She glanced at his face. He wasn’t thinking about her. He was staring at the waves with fever-bright eyes and chalk-white lips.

  Poor guy had an overwhelming fear of water and didn’t even know she existed. So much for unstoppable sexual attraction.

  “It can’t hurt you, you know.” Her voice was gentle, more comfortable with his distress than her own. “Not from over there.”

  With what looked like colossal effort, he tore his gaze from the water to meet hers. His Adam’s apple dipped, and she wanted to follow its path with the stroke of her finger.

  Why shouldn’t she?

  Because he’ll hurt you.

  “Tell it to my pounding heart.” His voice was rough.

  Sorcha unwrapped the blanket from her shoulders and draped the coarse wool over his broad frame.

  Why shouldn’t she live a little? Was it so wrong?

  Ben hadn’t laughed at her. He hadn’t gone off and shagged the nearest available female because that was easier than having an actual conversation or saying they were through.

  Instead he’d comforted her, changed the locks on her doors and made her feel protected.

  “I can help, you know.” She blocked his view of the waves by straddling his legs. Noted the exact moment color returned to his skin and his attention shifted from the water to her.

  “Yeah?” His eyes glowed, one side of his mouth curled.

  “Replace those fears with other thoughts.”

  “A little counter-conditioning therapy?” His lips kicked into a relaxed smile that Sorcha hadn’t seen before.

  “I was a psych major before I got hooked on behavioral ecology.” She shifted a little closer.

  He swept his hands up her jean-clad thighs, splayed warm fingers across the bare skin of her hips. She caught her breath and wondered if flesh could ignite.

  “So, Dr. Logan.” Bright onyx eyes held hers. “What’s a suitable reward for me sweating blood every time I look at that stuff?”

  She rested her hands on his shoulders, discovered they were tense and knotted.

  “A massage?” She kneaded the rigid muscles. Sucked in a breath as his hands drifted higher, caressing her waist and stroking the edge of her ribcage. His gaze was focused on her face. Unflinching. Unreadable.

  She stopped breathing as his hands skimmed the swell of her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples through her bra. Twin sensations coursed through her body, erotic and seductive.

  Unable not to, she edged closer until she pressed up against him. His gaze never wavered. She stared at his lips, licked her own and felt a flicker of anticipation when his gaze dipped to her mouth.

  They’d never kissed.

  She wanted to kiss him.

  “Are you awake this time, Mr. Foley?”

  That gained her a narrow-eyed smile.

  Moving so slowly it took every measure of control she possessed, she placed her lips against his. Felt a shudder move through his body as she stroked his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. She slid her hands into his hair, fascinated by the taste of the man, the strength, the mystery.

  Their noses rubbed, a soft nuzzle, and their breath mingled, his hot against her lips. Her pulse quickened and she could feel the arousal of her body—blood speeding through her veins, breath hitching, skin on fire.

  “If I did this—” she rocked against him, smiled as his fingers dug deeper into her hips, “—could I persuade you to come inside?”

  That earned a low growl. His skin was taut over his features, his body rigid beneath her. />
  Did he want to kiss her or push her away?

  She leaned forward, savored the way his eyes fixed intently on her mouth. She turned her head at the last moment to slow kiss along his jaw to his ear. Took the lobe between her teeth and bit gently.

  She’d missed sex. She wanted to experience the thrill of passion and extinguish the horror that lurked in the corners of her mind. But she wasn’t leading with her heart this time. Not that Ben was looking for love. Even no-strings sex was a hard sell.

  She’d never seduced anyone before. Never had the nerve. Maybe she was doing it wrong?

  Eyes closed, he rested his head back against the old stone wall. Lifted his face to the sun as she tasted him, quivered as she ran her fingers through short silky hair. His hands gripped her hips hard, holding her against him.

  No—there was indisputable evidence she was doing it right. But he was resisting temptation.

  After the chill of the attic, she was now so hot her blood fizzed.

  “Come inside,” she whispered into his ear and rubbed against him.

  Suddenly he moved against her. Ground hard flesh against soft and tipped her over the edge, every synapse in her body exploding in pleasure. Stunned, she whimpered against his shoulder, trying not to make a sound. But he knew.

  On a ragged growl he stilled, pushed her hair back to see her face.

  Embarrassed, she tried to pull away. “Wow.” She bit her lip, flustered.

  He studied her with expressionless eyes and a stern mouth. He looked pissed. Again.

  “Are we done?” she asked uncertainly. He was so still he didn’t seem to be breathing.

  “No.” His eyes flickered and he seemed to come to some tacit decision. He stood, lifting her in his arms at the same time. “No. We’re not done.”

  Sorcha wrapped her legs around his waist, grabbed the blanket before it drifted from his shoulders. This was just sex. Fun and games to take her mind off her problems. Hearts wouldn’t get mangled. Not this time.

  The water shimmered and the waves pounded the shore, but right now it didn’t matter.

  ***

  Ben’s arms tightened around Sorcha. He was making a huge mistake, getting it on with the chief suspect in a drug-smuggling investigation, a woman who claimed to see ghosts. But nothing else felt right—not the town, not the case, just this. And he couldn’t stop.

  He was lying to her. Screwing up every principle he believed in, violating the code he lived by. Right now he wanted her so badly, he’d do anything to crawl inside and fill up the loneliness that engulfed his whole life. Even lie.

  Hell, he lied for a living.

  He shifted her higher in his arms, shuddered as her breasts rubbed against his chest. He was a basket case of sexual arousal, worse than being sixteen and horny as hell, because he knew exactly what it felt like to be inside her.

  Goddamn.

  He strode up the stairs, kicked open the door and laid her on the bed. He closed the curtains, not sure how much detail surveillance on the opposite shore could pick up if they happened to be pointed in this direction. But he wasn’t risking a peep show. Risking his career was bad enough.

  Pausing, he admitted the truth to himself. Having sex with Sorcha wouldn’t kill his career; some operators routinely got down and dirty with their suspects, male or female, if it got them the intel they wanted. But this was different. Sorcha was different. This wasn’t about getting information. It would be easier if it were.

  He released a breath, turned around and his heart stopped.

  She’d pulled off her sweatshirt and leaned back on her elbows, looking as sexy as all get out. Her lips were red and slick, hair tumbling in messy waves across her shoulders, the V of her pink shirt dipping to reveal milky-white skin that contrasted with the freckles on her neck. He wanted to spend time figuring out the constellations etched across her skin, but time was one of the many things they didn’t have.

  Her nipples puckered against the thin material of her blouse. He moved closer, could feel his pulse hammer as if his heart were about to explode. Undoing his belt, he slipped it from the loops of his jeans. Dropped it to the floor where it landed with a thud.

  Sorcha flinched and he hesitated.

  This wasn’t just about sex. It was about her. Sorcha Logan, with her ice-blond hair and eyes that veered from sex kitten to vulnerable in the space of a heartbeat. A woman who’d been labeled a witch and claimed to have seen her father’s ghost just hours earlier. Certifiable, delusional or a damn good liar, she got to him in a way no one else ever had.

  “I want to see you naked.” His voice came out as though he’d swallowed grit and he coughed to clear his throat. Usually stripping was easy for her, but this time she frowned.

  Damn.

  Bringing this inside was a mistake. Who cared if they were caught screwing on a public beach? What was an eight-year law-enforcement career compared to instant sexual gratification?

  Please God, don’t turn out to be a fucking drug runner.

  He rubbed the back of his neck as an insane laugh formed. Maybe he was the one going crazy?

  She moved to the edge of the bed and climbed slowly to her feet. Took him by surprise when she swaggered toward him and stopped only inches away. She ran a finger from nipple to nipple. Lust ripped through his blood. He forced himself to remain still but he was already so hard it hurt.

  “You first,” she whispered, her lips an inch from his. Then she kissed him and tasted of sunshine and sea. His brain shut down as he absorbed the sheer sensation of her tongue against his. Brain shutdown from a single kiss? He pulled back. Held her by the shoulders. Maybe she really was a witch, but right now he didn’t care.

  Jacob. Forgive me.

  Even the memory of his dead friend didn’t slam on the brakes. She was a possible felon and he wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in his whole life. Revenge, vindication, respect. None of it mattered except getting her naked and getting inside her.

  Ben yanked his sweatshirt and T-shirt over his head and unbuttoned his jeans. She stared at him as if he were chocolate and she had a craving.

  Christ.

  He lifted the bottom of her shirt slowly over her head, trapping her arms in the sleeves behind her back, and walked her backward to the bed. Small, perfect, cotton-encased breasts pressed against his heart. He dipped his head, held her against his thigh as he kissed sweet flesh through the raspberry-colored covering. She rubbed against him, moaning and writhing, making sweat sizzle off his superheated skin.

  He let her fall onto the sheets. Reached for the button on her pants and dragged them down her legs to reveal smooth pale skin, delicate limbs and hot-pink panties. His blood pounded, muscles tightened, the scent of warm wet female twisting desire into torture.

  Impatiently she pulled her hands free of her shirtsleeves and reached for his zipper. He lasted about a second then backed up a step.

  “I’m a man on the edge, babe.”

  Her eyes danced with an interest that scared the hell out of him.

  “Then strip. I want to see you naked.” She lay back on the bed to watch, her frilly pink lingerie an erotic splash of color.

  Performance anxiety had never bothered him before, but sex never had this underlying pressure. As if he was crossing boundaries, and what he was doing right now might affect the rest of his life.

  Grabbing a condom out of his pocket, he dropped his pants and stepped out of his boxers. Sorcha looked him over slowly and smiled that cheeky grin that made him sweat pure lust as he crawled onto the bed, between her legs, right where he wanted to be.

  He smoothed his hands over her thighs, nuzzled beneath the outer edge of her panties and blew gently. She shot upright and he grinned. “Like that?”

  “Oh, yes,” she laughed.

  He liked it. Her scent made him want to consume her, possess her. Stripping her panties down her legs, he caressed her smooth skin, savored the softness of her feminine body. She pulled at his hair, trying to draw him upward
, but he wasn’t going anywhere. He glanced up to find her watching him with her teeth hooked into her bottom lip, uncertainty in her eyes.

  Christ, she was perfect.

  Hot. He corrected himself.

  He shook his head, trying to dislodge her death grip on his hair, but she held tighter. Brave undercover operative that he was, he ignored the pain.

  “Go away, I’m busy.” He slipped his tongue deep inside her, closed his eyes at the smoothness of hot moist heat against his tongue, the essence of her making him so hard he couldn’t think. Her hips rose off the bed. She released his hair, her fingers clutching the sheets, and arched her back, coming with a breathy little cry that destroyed his control.

  Lust poured off his body in waves of heat. He rolled on the condom, moved up the bed, savored the feel of her thighs tight around his hips as he eased against her.

  “Come inside.”

  The words whispered against his cheek and he drove so deep he thought he might pass out from sensory overload. He wanted to thrust deeper, harder, to get completely inside her. But she was small and tight and he didn’t want to hurt her.

  “You okay?” he asked after a moment, his voice croaky.

  He wasn’t okay. He was not freaking okay. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a moment to beg forgiveness, and when he opened them again, rather than moving, he brushed the hair back from her face. She regarded him steadily, her hands stroking the back of his neck.

  Whatever the truth about this woman, in a violent world she’d shown him nothing but decency. He needed to slow down the hard and fast. Needed to make this as good for her as it was for him. He rocked against her and felt her shudder.

  “Yes, I’m okay.” The laughter in her voice made him feel better.

  Although it was tough to beat what he was already feeling, considering he was embedded so deep in her body he was dying a slow and happy death.

  “Are you?” she asked.

  “Hell yes.”

  Gradually he began to move, tried to limit the mindless pounding of his blood and hold on to his ragged control. He rested his forehead against hers as she tilted her pelvis and took him deeper. Swallowed as she moved with him, thrust for thrust, trying to get even closer.