Desire on Deadline

by Lucy Lakestone

  “Supermaid, huh?”

  “Everything but the cape,” Alden declared.

  “I feel so much better,” Roz said, unable to help her sarcasm.

  “You should.” He set down his glass, eased closer to her and slipped an arm around her. “You OK?”

  “I am now. Once I can lose myself in a hot shower, I always feel better.”

  He leaned closer, so close she felt his breath on her neck. “Just how do you lose yourself in a hot shower?”

  Roz found herself unable to speak, imagining the hot water streaming over her body, and then imagining Alden there with her, his hands slipping over her skin . . .

  He lightly tongued her earlobe, and she felt a heat far more intense than the shower, a needy ache building between her legs. The instant response he triggered made her lose any hope of reason.

  “I imagine the water sliding through your hair,” he said, pushing her damp hair back and kissing her neck with slow, sweet deliberation. He moved down to her shoulder as he pushed the collar of her robe aside so he could press his lips there. “And then I imagine it dripping onto your shoulders, these smooth, creamy shoulders, in a beautiful waterfall.” He slid her robe lower, and she sucked in a breath as he kissed the slope of her breast. He took the forgotten wine glass out of her hand and set it on the table. “And then the water runs in tiny, sparkling rivulets down your perfect, round breasts” — he pushed the robe so far down, one of those breasts was revealed, its peak already dark and hard at his touch, at the silky poetry of his voice — “and then it flows and drips off your nipples like the gods’ own milk.”

  He leaned over her and took the pebbled nipple in his mouth.

  “Oooh,” Roz sighed, arching toward him. “Alden.”

  She’d never had a man pay so much attention to the details — right now, this one detail, this focused point of pleasure that made her brain dissolve into a cloud of stars as he tongued the point and suckled lovingly, cupping the globe in his hand. Then he slipped his hand under her robe and squeezed her other breast as he teased the first one. She moaned, and before she could even think to protest, he was slipping the robe entirely off her shoulders and loosening the knot at her waist and letting it fall away, leaving her naked before him. He lifted his face to hers, his eyes stormy, his lips red and wet. God, she wanted him. She seized the moment and pushed him backward.

  Alden made a guttural sound as he fell back against the cushions with her on top of him, a sound of surprise and hunger. She covered her mouth with his, savoring the taste of wine and man and heady desire. Roz relished her power as she sat up, straddled him and slowly untied the belt of his robe. He looked up at her with such intense want that it took her breath away.

  He wriggled, helping her as she slid the robe off his shoulders so he lay equally naked under her. Roz paused to admire him, skimming her hands over his tan skin, his sculpted torso. Then she leaned in to kiss him again, first his hot mouth, then his neck, then his nipples and his belly, until she was following the valley made by his muscles all the way to the trail of dark hair that led to his erection.

  He gasped as she took him into her mouth, as she swirled her tongue around his tip and then pulled him in deeper, feeling her own pleasure at the texture and taste of him, even as she exulted in the way he lost control below her. He groaned; he moved; he threw his head back, then lifted it, meeting her eyes with a searing look. She tasted the first drops of his nectar as he teetered on the brink.

  “Wait,” Alden whispered, touching her hair.

  Roz lifted her head, breathless. He dug into the pocket of the fallen robe and pulled out a condom. With a mischievous smile, she took the packet from him, ripped it open and rolled the thin sheath over his length, fascinated at the size and pulsing heat of him in her hand — but maybe not as fascinated as he was as he watched her.

  “I want to be inside you,” he said. “Come here.”

  His words were thrilling; he was under her, almost at her mercy, but now he was in control again, and she wanted what he wanted. Roz eased into position, taking hold of him, and angled his tip so it dipped into her cleft. He grasped her waist and pulled her to him. With a tiny cry, she slid onto his shaft.

  Alden filled her, stretched her. He felt good, too good. A fleeting thought winked through her mind — How will I ever be able to give him up? — and then she pushed it aside and rode him, lost in the erotic rhythm, until the shimmering sensations at the edge of her consciousness exploded in light. She cried out, and he thrust upward, harder, groaning along with her as he climaxed, as she clenched around him in spasms of bliss. She fell against him, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they brought their breathing under control.

  “Think they’ll let me move in here?” Alden asked after a few minutes of caresses and kisses.

  Roz giggled. “Go ahead. It’s the perfect place to research your gossip stories.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  She stilled, abruptly feeling awkward. She sat up and donned her robe and took a sip of wine.

  “What is it, Roz?” Alden asked. He waited a moment, and when she didn’t answer, he got up and walked to the bathroom (what a view as he walked away!). He returned in a moment, slipped on his robe and sat next to her. “Are you upset?”

  “Don’t joke about stuff like that,” she said.

  “I meant it.”

  “This is — this is what it is. We can’t be together. You’re Times. I’m Gazette.”

  “Not forever,” he said. “Things change.”

  “Not for the better for me, I think.” She drank more wine. It was easier than thinking.

  “Don’t you feel this?” Alden asked. “I lose my mind around you. Clearly, or I wouldn’t be running all over the county getting shot at with you.”

  “That’s flattering,” she said wryly.

  “It should be.” Now he sounded annoyed. “I can’t explain how I feel about you, but it’s powerful. Deny that you feel it, too.”

  Roz didn’t say anything. She couldn’t deny it. But it was impossible. He was impossible. How could he even vocalize it, this idea that they could ever be together?

  “When the story is over, this is over,” she said. “How can it not be?”

  A corner of his mouth turned up. “I don’t know.” He picked up his glass and took a long sip. “You’re clever. Figure it out.”

  “I can’t even figure out why a movie star blew up in the Gulf of Mexico.”

  “Fuel leak, obviously.”

  She snickered. “Maybe I’ll write that tomorrow and be done with it.”

  “About tomorrow — ”

  “Yeah?”

  Alden looked at her with a funny expression and shook his head. “Never mind. Want to go to bed?”

  “You mean to sleep?”

  His response was gentle, but she thought she detected a hint of hurt in his cool tone, and it almost slayed her.

  “Whatever you want, Roz,” he said.

  ≈≈≈

  Brunch at Junonia wasn’t a bad way to start the day. Or, at least, that’s what Alden thought when he and Roz sat on the deck and ordered fresh-squeezed orange juice and coffee, while admiring the sparkling sea view and a wide, white beach studded with two dozen plastic pink flamingos.

  It went downhill from there.

  “Boy, you got the scoop today,” ever-industrious server Lily told Alden. She dropped off their beverages as a healthy Sunday morning crowd, including a cluster of hung-over groomsmen, buzzed around them. “What can I get you?”

  Alden shot a glance at Roz, whose relaxed expression had just morphed into something between puzzlement and panic.

  “Uh, I’ll have the Spanish omelet with toast,” Alden said. “Roz?”

  “The grouper Benedict,” she said, but she wasn’t looking at Lily. She was looking at Alden.

  “Sure thing!” Lily said. “I’ll get that right in for you.”

  When she left, Roz pulled her p
hone out of her bag and tapped furiously. Her eyes grew wide.

  “You got an interview with Mysty Wellington.”

  “Well,” Alden said uncomfortably, “Julia did.”

  “But this was your story.”

  “Yeah, but she’s nicer than I am, and celebrities will talk to her more than they’ll talk to me. I’m the guy who digs up the dirt behind the scenes, so I’m not very popular.”

  Roz shook her head and scrolled through the story on the phone. “Mysty is pregnant with Boyd’s baby? That’s what they were going to celebrate in the balloon?”

  “That’s why he never changed his will. Even after they split, he wanted to leave everything to her and, therefore, his kid. He was going to have a role in the parenting along with Mysty and her future wife. Of course, he didn’t know he’d die so soon.”

  “You scooped me,” Roz said in disbelief.

  “You did say you didn’t care about the gossip story, didn’t you?”

  She had a dazed look. “What in the hell have I been thinking?”

  “We’re still trying to crack the explosion story. I wouldn’t dream of writing anything about that without talking to you first.”

  “No one is going to give a shit about the explosion story, if we — if I ever crack it.”

  Alden didn’t like the way “we” became “I.”

  “Roz,” he said, “Julia got this.”

  “With your help.”

  “And you don’t write gossip,” he continued. “You can’t hold this against me.”

  She sipped her coffee and looked out at the gulf, where a sailboat cut its way through the turquoise water, its white sail glowing in the morning sun. “Of course I can’t hold it against you. I’m a professional, and we work for rival papers, and you need to do your job, and I need to do mine.”

  Oh, man. She was all frost, now. He had thought about telling her. Maybe he should have. She would have let him have his scoop. She was that kind of person. Honorable.

  Shit.

  Roz was tapping on her phone again.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Telling Bruce to get an item online about Mysty and the baby. And attributing it to the Times, of course.” The way she said Times, it sounded as if the word was wrapped in barbed wire.

  “Please don’t be mad,” Alden said, though he knew he shouldn’t say anything.

  “Stunned is more like it,” Roz said, and then their food arrived.

  With the plates and Lily came Chef Ian, clad in black and looking pissed.

  “Mr. Knox, I’m pleased to see you here again as a customer,” Ian said in his clipped English tones. “But if you ever talk to one of my staff again as a reporter without talking to me first, you will be banned from this property forever. Do I make myself clear?”

  Alden opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

  “The only reason I’m willing to be civil to you going forward,” the chef continued, “is that you helped me sell that bloody cupcake.” He turned to Roz. “Ms. Melander, it’s always lovely to see you. Good day.”

  Chef Ian stalked off. Lily shot them an embarrassed smile and followed him.

  “What did you do?” Roz asked.

  “I chatted up one of the staff about the seven-hundred-dollar cupcake Boyd had ordered for the balloon ride. I might have, uh, not been entirely clear that I worked for the paper.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I might have told him I was planning to propose to my girlfriend and needed to plan a balloon ride. But I didn’t get that much from the kid!” he protested. “Most of it I put together myself.”

  “Oh, Alden,” Roz said. Her disappointed tone was a knife to the heart.

  “It was harmless.” He was getting annoyed. “You don’t have to be so judgy.” He dug into his omelet and chewed, grumpy. Though it was really good.

  “I’m not judgy,” Roz said, taking a bite of her dish. Her face softened slightly as she savored it, and he thought of her savoring him the night before, and he wanted to scream and grab her by the shoulders and kiss her.

  Instead, they ate in silence until Lily came back to check on them.

  “This grouper Benedict is absolutely fabulous,” Roz said to her.

  “Of course, the chef is a genius, but it helps that we get such nice fish. In fact,” Lily said, sotto voce, “that’s our supplier there on the other end of the terrace, having brunch.”

  Alden and Roz both looked. Two middle-aged couples, tan and attractive, were laughing over mimosas.

  “Who?” Alden asked.

  “The man in the red shirt. Peter Verret,” Lily said softly, then at normal volume: “OK, you all let me know if you need anything.” The server sped off, and Alden locked eyes with Roz.

  “No shit,” she murmured.

  “He has a home here, right? One of them?”

  “Yes, he does.”

  Alden stole another look at him. “Should we talk to him?”

  “What’s the point?” she asked. “I don’t think annoying him over his brunch is going to do any real good. He’s already made his statement, and we have nothing new to ask.”

  “We could ask him what he transports in his trucks.”

  She swallowed a bite of her breakfast and shrugged. “Go ahead, if you want to. I prefer to know more before I blunder in and ask uninformed questions.”

  “You were OK with blundering into his parking lot and spying on Consummate Catch’s nighttime operations.”

  Roz scowled at him. “I wasn’t alone, drunken sailor.”

  “No, you weren’t.” Alden needed to get this conversation back on course. “And you aren’t alone now. Let’s do some more research. Maybe there are connections with Garza other than the trucking operation. And then we’ll be able to ask better questions.”

  She sipped her coffee and looked out at the water, ignoring him. Finally, she turned to face him. Her hazel eyes were tinged with pain, but her voice was calm.

  “We’ll see this story through, and then that’s it.”

  Alden felt his heart crumple like a discarded first draft, and then he was angry at himself for caring so much. It’s not like anything would have worked out with her.

  “Let’s go back to the villa and see what we can find out,” he said quietly. “I booked it for one more night.”

  “I’ll be going home tonight,” Roz said, “but it’s OK if we work there.”

  Alden nodded, not trusting himself to speak. When did he become so vulnerable, so wrapped up in her? It had happened so fast, it had hit him so hard, that he couldn’t imagine it was over.

  They walked back to the villa in silence. The air was fresh with salt and flowers. The birds sang. It should have been romantic. Damn it, it was romantic. Only Roz, who was wearing a pretty green skirt and flowing white blouse and sandals that made her all too irresistible, had built an invisible wall around her that he didn’t dare assail.

  “Why don’t we use your laptop?” Alden suggested when they got back inside. One computer, he thought, meant they’d have to sit together.

  Roz didn’t object, and he sat next to her on the couch, where they’d been so cozy the night before. Slowly, as they searched the Internet and reviewed everything they knew about Verret’s fishing business and Garza’s trucking business, her chilly attitude seemed to thaw, until he almost felt they were back where they’d been.

  Except that she was going home tonight. And she was still in danger.

  “So Verret and Garza serve on the board of this ocean awareness charity together,” Roz said.

  “And they promote sport fishing, clean beaches and oceans, that sort of thing, right?” Alden asked.

  “Right.”

  “See who else is on the board.”

  Roz scrolled through the names, and they started running searches on each of them against Verret and Garza.

  “Check this out!” she said. “This guy Louis Smythe is on the nonprofit board with them, and he’s als
o on that state task force that’s going after illegal offshore fishing, the one that Verret is a consultant for.”

  “So check him out,” Alden said.

  It didn’t take them long to find old stories that said Smythe once served on a drug task force that had been investigated for corruption. He had never been charged.

  “Drugs again,” Roz said.

  “It’s not enough, though, is it?” Alden mused, sitting back.

  “Something’s missing.” She fell back against the cushions, too, tapping her lips as she thought, a nervous habit that made Alden ache to grab those fingers, to kiss those lips.

  “Why don’t we take a walk on the beach and talk it out?”

  Roz shot him a look that he couldn’t read. “I guess it couldn’t hurt,” she said. “We might as well enjoy this place while we’ve got it.”

  And enjoy each other, he wanted to add.

  They left their shoes in the villa and set out down the beach. It really was gorgeous here in Barefoot Bay, and late on this warm afternoon, no other guests were in sight. The breeze blew Roz’s loose clothes against her body and rippled his white linen shirt. His khakis were rolled up, and his feet felt good in the wet sand. He wanted to forget his troubles, but they were right there, all around him.

  She was right there.

  “Let’s sit for a minute,” Alden said, gesturing to a cluster of rocks by the tree line. He wanted her close to him, hoping their physical connection might heal the rift between them.

  “OK.” Roz sounded hesitant, but she followed him up the beach. They sat on the cool rocks, under the swaying fronds of a palm, and looked out over the gulf. The light took on an amber glow as the sun lowered and the magic hour approached.

  “Is that a shrimping boat?” Roz asked as a vessel crossed the sun’s path.

  “I think so.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever look at a fishing boat again without thinking of that one blowing up.”

  “Only that one wasn’t a commercial fishing boat,” Alden said.

  “I guess nobody’s going to stop fishing just because one boat blew up.”

  “It’s a huge business,” he agreed.

  Roz looked at him strangely. “It’s a huge business.”