“No, it’s not another man. It’s Sascha. You met her at the party last night. She’s upstairs. We’ve been…working.”
He scolded himself for jumping to conclusions, angry that he’d even allowed a bit of jealousy to creep in. Hell, this wasn’t supposed to get so serious, so fast. He glanced over at the door, suddenly anxious to leave. “Ah, business. Well, I’d better let you go then.” He kissed her forehead, then picked up the bag and placed it in her arms. “Eat something. And then get some sleep. I’ll see you…when I see you.”
“Yes,” Marisol murmured. “Me, too.”
Ian walked to the door and pulled it open, then took one last look at her.
“You’re still going to pose for me, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Call me,” he said.
The door closed behind him and Ian drew a deep breath, then slowly let it out. What the hell was going on? He’d never in his life had that kind of reaction, that immediate rush of jealousy. He barely knew Marisol Arantes and he was worried about the other men who might be interested in her. This was getting out of hand fast and the only way to stop it was to put some distance between the two of them.
Ian grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial for Marcus, hoping that his brother would be free. He needed to enjoy a few beers with a dispassionate buddy. If his younger brother couldn’t snap Ian back to reality, then no one could.
Marcus didn’t pick up, but Ian left a message on his voice mail, then headed back to the station. He’d finish the paperwork waiting on his desk and hopefully, by the time he was ready to head home, he’d hear from Marcus.
Anything to take my mind off Marisol, he mused as he drove toward the station. After all they’d experienced together, it was odd that a tiny sliver of jealousy had struck him so hard. But then, she could have been with another man. Marisol was a very sexual woman, a woman who acted on her desires. How did he know there wasn’t another man who might be better at satisfying those desires than he was?
When he pulled the squad car into the station parking lot five minutes later, he noticed his brother’s truck parked out front. Ian hopped out of the Mustang and strode inside. Marcus was chatting with Sally at the front desk, deep into a discussion of hull design and sail dimensions.
“I was just going to call you,” Sally said. “Your brother is here.”
“I can see that.” Ian beckoned for Marcus to follow him back to his office. Marcus, dressed in a faded T-shirt and baggy shorts, flopped down in the guest chair and idly began to flip through a copy of Law Enforcement Monthly.
“I just left a message on your cell,” Ian said.
“I know. I was talking with my new boss, Trevor Ross, and couldn’t put him on hold. I figured I’d come over here and see you since I thought we might go out for a pint or two.”
“So, how’s it been going, baby brother?” Ian asked.
“I’ve been living like a monk, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m moving out to the boat tomorrow. How are you doing?”
“Great,” Ian said. In truth, he felt as if everything he’d enjoyed over the past few days had suddenly gone bad. What had begun as a simple sexual relationship, had grown more serious than he was willing to admit. He considered Marisol his, exclusively, though nothing had been decided between them.
“No women?” Marcus asked.
“I plan to win this bet. Piece of cake.” Ian didn’t like lying to his brother, but better to keep him in the dark for now. The whole pact had been a ridiculous idea from the start, so if he accidentally broke it, his brothers would have to understand. Having sex with Marisol hadn’t really been an accident. It had been a premeditated act of desire, one that he’d thought about from the very moment he’d met her.
“I’ve been thinking this probably isn’t going to work,” Ian said. “How are we supposed to learn anything about women if we stay away from them?”
“Celibacy is supposed to give us perspective,” Marcus said, peering over the top of the magazine.
“Why do I need that?”
“Maybe you’ll figure out why you behave the way you do around women?”
“But what if the perfect woman came along and everything was just right and I knew she was the one. And then, I had this stupid pact to think about. Would you pass up your one chance at a woman like that?”
Marcus thought about his answer for a long time, then shrugged. “How would you know she was perfect? Are you talking about someone who is really hot? Or someone you’d want to spend the rest of your life with?”
“Both,” Ian said. “Hypothetically. I mean, would you walk away from someone like that?”
Marcus sat up and tossed the magazine aside. “I don’t know. I suppose if I really believed she was the one, then you and Dec would understand. And what’s the point of letting the right one get away just because of some silly pact. It defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”
“Exactly,” Ian said.
Marcus nodded. “But you haven’t met the one yet, have you?”
“No. I just met this woman the other day and got to thinking. She was pretty enough, but I met her on the job and-”
“No mixing business with pleasure?” Marcus asked.
A long silence grew between them, both of them deep in thought. At least Marcus would understand Ian’s choice. And Declan wasn’t the kind of guy who’d begrudge any family member a bit of happiness. Ian glanced over at his brother as he considered telling him the truth about the past few days.
But instead, Ian decided to bring up a different subject. “Have you ever been jealous?”
Marcus frowned. “Of what?”
“Jealous. Of another guy.”
“I was wicked jealous of Steve Fillinger after he got that Corvette for high school graduation. I remember telling him the year before, when we got our driver’s licenses, that it was my dream car and he convinced his da to buy it for him just to piss me off.”
“That’s not really jealousy,” Ian said. “That’s envy. I’m talking about when a woman you’re with shows an interest in another man.”
Marcus shook his head. “Not really. I guess I’ve never really cared about someone enough that it bothered me.”
“Me, neither,” Ian said.
So did that mean that he was beginning to care for Marisol? Even now, he recalled the fierce reaction he’d had when he suspected she was entertaining another man. Was it because he was afraid of losing her for good, or simply losing her for that night? He’d gone over there hoping for a repeat of their previous encounter but would have been satisfied to spend a few hours talking to her. But then, suddenly, everything had become more complicated.
He wanted to discuss it all with his brother, but though they often talked about women, they’d never really discussed the frustrations of trying to navigate a real relationship. Probably because neither one of them had ever had one. Ian was in strange, new territory here and he didn’t like how it felt.
Marcus stood and stretched his arms over his head. “Let’s go get ourselves a pint and drown our sorrows.”
Ian nodded. A pint or two sounded just fine to him. But he wasn’t sure he had any sorrows to drown just yet. He wouldn’t know that until the next time he saw Marisol Arantes.
4
MARISOL SNATCHED the jar of chocolate sauce from the shelf and distractedly read the calorie content, sighing softly. Nearby, another shopper studied the label on a bag of marshmallows. At 11:00 p.m. on a Friday night, they were a sorry bunch of souls, alone on a perfectly good date night, resigned to eating through whatever cravings they might have.
Her mind contemplated the uses for chocolate sauce and immediately bypassed ice-cream sundaes and settled on the sexual options. She lapsed into a fantasy in which she poured chocolate all over Ian’s body and then licked it off. But then, chocolate sauce would be so filling. Perhaps, whipped cream would be a better choice.
Marisol tossed the sauce into her cart, frustrated by her inabili
ty to decide what she really wanted-beyond sex. She’d already concluded there were no foods that could serve as a substitute, or even come in a close second. Butter pecan ice cream, Oreo cookies, barbecue potato chips might soothe the hunger, but never really get rid of it.
It had been three days since she’d last seen Ian. She remembered his parting words-call me. And though she’d been expected to make the next move, she’d been reluctant to do so. Sascha had been right. After what she’d discovered in the crate sent by her father, the last person she ought to be sleeping with was a police officer.
Still, her decision to avoid him hadn’t diminished her desire for Ian. She’d been edgy and restless, unable to focus on her work and constantly replaying the moments they’d spent together. Everything she started had been left half-finished and Marisol was growing increasingly confused about her feelings for the town’s police chief.
She hadn’t come to Bonnett Harbor looking to jump into a wildly satisfying sexual affair-she’d come here to work. The affair had just happened and for her part, she’d been glad for it. But now that she’d put a stop to it, Marisol realized she’d begun to need Ian for more than just sex.
As she strolled through the snack aisle again, Marisol looked over her shoulder and noticed someone following her. He’d been behind her for some time, a middle aged man in a nice suit and undone tie, mildly attractive, yet definitely not her type. Divorced, Marisol calculated, and searching for love at the supermarket. Or maybe just a simple one-night stand.
Ian hadn’t been her type, either, far from it. If she’d met him at any other time in her life she might have rejected him, as well, might never have experienced his touch or his taste, the sound of his voice or the scent of his skin.
Marisol continued her aimless stroll, heading toward the freezer section in search of her favorite banana cake. She turned the corner onto the dairy aisle, suddenly craving onion dip, then froze. Her cart slid to a stop in front of the cream cheese. Ian stood ten feet away, perusing the yogurt selections. She glanced back over her shoulder, wondering if she might be able to turn around without being noticed, but when Marisol looked up again, she caught him staring at her.
He wasn’t wearing his uniform. Instead, he was dressed in a faded T-shirt that advertised some fishing service, baggy shorts that hung down nearly to his knees and battered flip-flops. His hair, usually so neatly combed, looked carelessly rumpled. Marisol took in the paint-stained sundress that she’d chosen, smoothing her hands over the wrinkled skirt. Drawing a deep breath, she started toward him, prepared to nod and pass him by if he didn’t say anything to her.
For a long moment, he just watched her with an unreadable expression, a carton of yogurt clutched in his hand. Then, Ian stepped out from behind the cart, dropped the yogurt on the floor and walked over to her. In one easy movement, he captured her face in his hands and kissed her, his tongue immediately invading her mouth.
Marisol was so surprised that she didn’t have time to react. The contact sent a shock wave through her dulled senses, but then came that wonderful rush of heat that his touch always brought. Her knees wobbled and he caught her around the waist to steady them both. Slowly, the ache that had settled into her body since the last time he’d touched her began to abate and she sank against him.
“That’s better,” he murmured when he finally drew away. He pressed his forehead to hers and looked down into her eyes. “I’ve been thinking about you all week.”
“I-I’ve been thinking about you,” she admitted. She didn’t really want him to know that he’d plagued her thoughts, but what harm could it do. They’d both been honest about their desires.
“I’ve wanted to-”
She placed her finger on his lips. “I’ve wanted to call you, too, but I-”
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to-” He paused. “Maybe we should stop with the excuses now? So, what are you doing here?”
“Getting something for supper.”
He glanced in her basket, then frowned. “And what are you planning to make?”
Marisol smiled wanly at the collection of junk food in her basket. “It’s an old Portuguese dish passed down from my grandmother.”
He took her hand and pressed a kiss onto the inside of her wrist, his lips lingering over her pulse point. “Come on, leave the groceries. I’ll take you out for the best steak on this side of Narragansett Bay.”
Marisol grabbed her purse and followed him out of the store. They passed the man in the suit and he gaped at her, obviously thinking that he ought to have introduced himself sooner.
Ian’s car was parked on the opposite side of the lot and Marisol wondered if their meeting had been fate. In the end, she really didn’t care. She and Ian were together again and nothing else mattered beyond this burning desire she had for the man.
When they reached the car, Ian grabbed her again and kissed her, his fingers furrowing through her hair as he molded his mouth to hers. She felt the possibilities in his kiss, the certainty that, once alone, kissing would never be enough.
She opened to him, her tongue teasing at his in a silent assurance that they both wanted the same thing. The taste of him was like a narcotic, erasing her worries and doubts. She needed Ian in her life, regardless of the risks. And maybe it was just for physical release, but why should that make a difference? If he wanted her and she wanted him, then they could come to some understanding.
“You’re hungry?” he asked, his words tinged with another meaning.
She nodded. “Starved.”
Ian grinned then took her hand and helped her into his car. As they pulled out of the lot, Marisol tipped her head back and closed her eyes, letting the warm night breeze caress her face, suddenly anxious to rid herself of her clothes.
They only drove for a few minutes before Ian pulled into the driveway of a pretty clapboard bungalow on a tree-lined street. She glanced around. “Where are we?”
“My place,” he said.
Marisol glanced over at the house and then at him. They’d always indulged on her turf, on her terms, not on his. She had invited him into her life, for her own purposes, but this was different. He was inviting her into his life now. She sent him an uneasy smile. “I-I thought we were going to go get a-”
“I make a mean steak,” he explained as he hopped out of the car. He circled to her door, then opened it and helped Marisol out. He held her hand as they walked up the front steps to the door, then opened it and steered her inside.
The living room was furnished beautifully in an arts and crafts style, with Stickley-inspired furniture throughout. She walked over to a chair and ran her hand along the cherry finish.
“My brother Marcus and I made the furniture,” Ian said. “He’s kind of an expert with wood.”
One side of the room was lined with bookshelves and they were filled from top to bottom. Marisol crossed the room and studied the titles, surprised at the variety. There were classics and contemporary fiction, how-to books and biographies. “Have you read all these?”
Ian nodded. “Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine?”
“That would be nice.”
He disappeared into the kitchen and Marisol continued her study of her surroundings. As she looked at the bits and pieces of his life, she realized she didn’t know Ian Quinn at all. They’d shared the most intimate of experiences, yet they were little more than strangers. He returned a few moments later with a bottle and a glass. But instead of pouring her a drink, Ian took her hand and pulled her along with him up the stairs.
At first, Marisol thought they might end up in the bedroom, but to her surprise, he took her to the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” she asked, wondering if he was about to repeat what they’d shared in the Templetons’ powder room.
“I’m drawing you a bath. It’s about time someone took care of you.” As he bent over the huge claw-foot tub, her eyes fixed on his shoulders, the muscles moving beneath the T-shirt. A lock of dark hair hung over
his collar and she reached out to brush it aside with her fingers. He glanced up at her and smiled as the hot water poured into the tub.
No one had ever taken care of her before, she mused. But it seemed to come so naturally to him, as if he’d accepted the responsibility without a second thought and was happy for it. Ian held up a bottle of bath salts and she nodded.
The scent of rosemary filled the air and bubbles floated on the surface of the water. “I wouldn’t think you were the type to take bubble baths,” she said, kneeling down beside him to swirl her hand through the water.
“My sister gave me these for Christmas last year. She’s into aromatherapy.” He leaned against the edge of the tub, his gaze skimming over her face. Then he suddenly stood and pulled her to her feet, his hands sliding down along her arms then lower, to the hem of her sundress. Marisol held her breath as he drew it up over her head.
His gaze raked along the length of her naked body and he laughed softly. “Forgot the underwear again, huh?”
“Yes,” she murmured, watching him watch her. She liked how it made her feel when he couldn’t keep his eyes off her, the little shiver of anticipation that ran through her. He wanted to touch her; she could see it in the way his fingers twitched. But he was doing his best to resist for now.
Marisol reached for his T-shirt but he gently took her hands and kissed them both. “Why don’t you relax? I’ll go start dinner.” Taking her elbow, he helped her into the tub, then handed her a sponge.
Marisol sank down into the warm water, sighing as she slipped beneath the surface. The scent of the bath salts filled her head and she closed her eyes and lay back, smiling to herself. How was it that he knew exactly what she needed? She hadn’t realized how tense she was until the warm water surrounded her.
Marisol opened one eye and found him still staring at her, his gaze lazily focused on her breasts. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” She held out her hand, beckoning him to come closer, inviting him to touch her. “It’s just a bath. And we have been naked before. Or almost naked.”
Ian Page 8
