Sex and the Sleepwalker

by Donna Sterling

  “You’re trying to get off on a technicality.”

  “I never meant to lie.”

  The angst she obviously felt over this seemingly inconsequential subject raised his interest level from mild curiosity to a definite need to know. “You’re hiding something.”

  She pressed her lush lips into a thin line again—a crime in its own right.

  Unwilling to tolerate her evasion, Cade swerved the car to the side of the road, parked under a cluster of pines and turned to her. “Are you going to tell me why you’re making such a big deal out of where you’re from?”

  “I’m not making a big deal out of it. You’re the one who’s angry.”

  Hell yes, he was angry. She was keeping something from him. Something that bothered her. Which meant she was still holding him at a distance. And that distance, more than anything else, ticked him off. “Where are you from, Brynn?”

  Lifting a dark, satiny brow in a stubborn refusal to answer, she presented him with her pert profile. Ironic that John thought she couldn’t keep a secret because of her sleepwalking and talking. Cade then remembered her refusal to sleep with him last night, and wondered if she’d refused for fear of telling her secret.

  He then wondered how Antoine had known about it.

  Under the pressure of his glowering stare, Brynn finally replied in cool, clipped tones, “I’m from a small, ordinary, unremarkable town south of Atlanta called Summerton.”

  “So, why didn’t you say that from the start?”

  “It seemed irrelevant.”

  It had been irrelevant, until she’d hidden it. And she was still hiding something. He wondered if John would know what it might be. But Cade didn’t want to learn about her from John, or from any of his other readily available resources. He wanted her to open herself to him. All the way. He wanted that so much it hurt.

  “How did Antoine know you weren’t from Athens?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t tell him?”

  “No.”

  But he’d definitely known. He’d flaunted his knowledge of her in a silent but malicious taunt. Maybe he had researched her background—the Piper’s probable method of choosing his victims. How else would he know about the women in a cop’s life without researching the cop’s history? If he knew John was from Summerton, he’d know his sister was, too.

  “Oh, Cade, let’s not waste time on arguments.” Brynn turned a beseeching gaze to him. “What’s past is past. Why don’t we get on with today and the, uh, important stuff?” Her smile emerged only enough to activate a dimple near her chin, and her voice softened with sensuality. “Like that second session of therapy.”

  Desire sliced through him, low and sharp. God, he wanted her. Wanted to carry her off into the woods, lay her down on blankets and thrust deeply into her. Make her cry out his name, and quake in his arms, and take him places he’d been only while inside her.

  He could do all those things—the very things he’d been obsessing over since college. Ironically, though, he couldn’t make her talk to him. Couldn’t make her trust him enough to share whatever secret she kept.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready for another therapy session,” he said, even as his body hardened and throbbed for her. “Unlike you, Brynn, I prefer to know a person I’m having sex with.”

  Her mouth opened in protest. “You know me!”

  “What are you afraid of revealing about yourself?”

  “I’m not afraid of revealing anything about myself.” But he saw the startled look in her eyes.

  She was flat-out refusing to trust him. Frustration filled him to near bursting. A familiar sensation. Before he could rein in his tongue, he heard himself saying, “Do you know, Brynn, that during the entire time I stayed at my father’s home—six months a year until I turned eighteen—he never gave me a key to the house, or trusted me to be alone there?”

  She blinked in clear surprise, probably because of the sudden change in topic. “Why not?”

  “I used to think it was because my mother was a stripper, and he didn’t believe any son of hers could be worth a damn. But, looking back, I see that I wasn’t blameless. I spent half the year in my mother’s inner-city neighborhood, and it always took me time to readjust to the suburbs. I smoked. Cussed. Drank beer with the guys. Cut class now and then. Dressed like a Hell’s Angel. So every time a crime was committed nearby, my father suspected me. And my mother wasn’t much better. She didn’t trust anyone of the male gender. She constantly suspected me of plotting with my father to deprive her of alimony.”

  “Oh, Cade, that’s terrible.”

  “I’m not after your sympathy, Brynn. Things turned out okay for me. What I want to know is—” he sharpened his gaze on her “—what reasons have I given you not to trust me?”

  “I never said I didn’t trust you.”

  “Not in words, but in actions. You never opened up to me, Brynn. Never talked about your life, or took me to meet your parents.” He shut his mouth in self-disgust, embarrassed that he’d mentioned those things. He hadn’t admitted even to himself that they’d bothered him.

  “I didn’t realize you wanted to meet my parents.”

  “I suggested it more than once.” It made no sense, really, how much he’d wanted to. Whenever she and John had mentioned family matters, they’d spoken with affection. Affection had been a rare commodity in his family. Maybe he’d just wanted to see it in action.

  “Well, it’s too late to introduce you. My mother passed away, and my father retired to Florida. But I don’t see why my parents or my past should mean anything to you.”

  Of course she didn’t. Because he didn’t mean anything to her. Other than a sexual adventure. A “carnival ride.”

  Seething with emotions too complex to sort out, he yanked the SUV into gear, lurched out of their parking place and sped down the graveled road until it ended. He then turned the vehicle down a narrow, rutted path through the forest, allowing a hazy memory to guide him. When at last he found his destination, he parked the car, reached into the rear seat, grabbed the backpack from the floorboards, hoisted it onto his shoulder and stepped down from the SUV.

  If all she wanted from him was sex, that was what she’d get. But not right away. He couldn’t touch her anytime soon without losing his cool altogether.

  She climbed from the SUV and walked beside him, half running to keep up. Even with his emotions in turmoil, she couldn’t fail to stir his blood. Her dark hair tumbled every which way from beneath her red bandanna, and above tight, slim jeans, a semisheer peasant blouse rode low across her creamy shoulders. A blouse that could be off those shoulders with one good pull.

  The roiling in his chest grew more chaotic. If protecting her wasn’t so damn important, he would have left her here, on the path to the river, and hiked deep into the woods to lose himself.

  BRYNN COULDN’T UNDERSTAND why he was so angry. She’d always thought that if she gave in and had sex with him, he’d want little else from her. But it seemed he did.

  He wanted to know her better.

  The realization warmed her, but also stirred vague feelings of alarm. Why could he never settle for what she was willing to give?

  In surly silence, he led her to a grassy overlook above the Oconee River. If their therapy plan was on his mind, he’d chosen a perfect place. The memories of the things they’d done here—and thoughts of what they hadn’t done—breathed like a living thing from the deep woods around them.

  Cade didn’t pause to appreciate the serene beauty of their surroundings. With brisk moves he opened the backpack, tossed out a sleeping bag and applied his efforts to erecting a camouflage-green pup tent on a reasonably level plateau. He positioned the tent with one end toward a thick grove of hardwoods and the other to the steep drop-off above the river, ensuring a good deal of privacy even if someone were to wander upon their campsite. The setup also allowed for a cooling, river-scented breeze to tunnel through.

  He’d always been good at f
inding pleasant places to be alone with her. They’d spent considerable time making out in tents—the closest they’d come to a bed. The sensual pleasure of those memories came back to her with surprising clarity, strengthening the longing he’d ignited in her this morning with his slow, hungry kisses.

  Unfortunately, the heat she’d stirred in him seemed long gone. Yet she swore she sensed volcanic activity brewing just beneath his cool reserve.

  He crouched to spread out the sleeping bag on the floor of the tent, and she knelt at the other end to help him, stealing glances at him as they worked. If he was so blasted angry, why had he brought her here?

  When they finished, she crawled into the cozy enclosure and propped herself up on an elbow, expecting him to join her. He remained outside the tent, though, sitting against a boulder and throwing pebbles into the river, his jaw taut, his expression dark.

  She wished she hadn’t upset him, but didn’t see how she could have avoided it. The secret she kept could impact people she loved. There was more than just the minor issue of where she was from. She’d withheld that bit of information simply to stop anyone who might know folks from her hometown from connecting her with the scandal she’d caused. The important secret had to do with her father’s and brother’s attempts at damage control. The less anyone knew, the better off her family would be.

  Besides, if she confided too much to Cade, his respect for her might die a terrible death. He had that good-guys-versus-bad-guys thing going on. Just look at how angry he’d become over one tiny falsehood about her hometown. What would he do if he knew that she, her brother and her father were, technically speaking, criminals who hadn’t been punished?

  But no good could come from thinking about that. She had only a limited time with Cade before he left her. She wanted to make the most of their time together. Needed to make the most of it. Their lovemaking had the potential to solve more than her sleepwalking problem. Regular doses of uninhibited sex might help her resolve whatever hang-ups she’d had with other lovers.

  Bleakness settled over her. She didn’t like to think about moving on to other lovers. Another symptom of her unhealthy preoccupation with Cade, she told herself. She really did need closure.

  “Come lie with me,” she called out to him. When he acknowledged her with a grudging glance, she smoothed her hand in invitation over the empty place beside her.

  His mouth tight, his jaw hard, he ducked into the tent, settled onto his back and crossed his arms behind his head. He didn’t reach for her or even look at her, but stared unseeingly at the tent’s central beam.

  “I can’t believe you’re this angry,” she said, peering down at his sullen face from her half-reclining position, “just because I’d rather have sex with you than talk.”

  That got him. He abruptly shifted his gaze to her.

  “I’d have thought you’d be thrilled,” she added.

  And she knew she’d angered him more. But at least he was looking at her now. “You thought I’d be thrilled,” he said in a low yet penetrating voice. “At what, Brynn? You seem to think I’m good enough for sex in the bushes or a quick bang against your office wall, but not to spend the night with. Or to take to your bed. Or to confide in.”

  Dismay washed through her. She couldn’t confide her secret to him because it involved her father and brother. And she didn’t dare spend the night with Cade, or take him to her bed, because she was having a hard enough time keeping their relationship in perspective. Sex was okay. Intimacy was not. Otherwise, she just might fall in love with him. And then she’d surely fall apart when he left.

  “What if our positions were reversed,” he said, “and after our sex games, I refused to let you spend the night, or come to my bed, or know anything about me? How would you feel, Brynn?”

  Used. She didn’t admit that out loud, though. The realization disturbed her too much.

  “If you’re trying to turn the tables on me,” he said, “to show me how you felt when I gave you that ultimatum, you’re doing a damn good job.”

  Her throat tightened. That idea had never entered her mind. If he thought she’d had sex with him as part of a scheme for revenge, he’d been right that he didn’t know her.

  She raised herself a little higher on her elbow to look squarely down at him. “So, you think I set out from the beginning to get revenge, teach you a lesson?”

  “Maybe it just turned out that way.”

  She stared at him, appalled that he’d seen their lovemaking as anything other than what it had been. But then, what had it been? If she was honest, she’d have to admit that she had used him. And planned to continue using him. He had, after all, agreed to administer therapy. Agreed to lend himself to her cause. Hadn’t he, in effect, been asking her to use him?

  She wasn’t about to let him out of that agreement now, though. It seemed more important than ever to get closure—true closure—from their sexual relationship.

  “If I’m using you, Cade,” she said, trying for a light tone but not quite succeeding, “and you’re not enjoying it…” she drew her fingers down the curve of his face, from his temple, along his thick, shining hair to his strong, hard jaw “…I guess I’ll have to change my tactics.”

  He frowned and opened his mouth in what she knew would be a rebuke. He didn’t want her to trivialize his feelings.

  She laid her finger across his lips to shush him. He’d said quite enough already. “I’m thinking I should concentrate on using just one body part at a time.”

  At last, she’d succeeded in rendering him speechless.

  11

  “I THINK I’LL START with your tongue.”

  Cade’s brows scrunched together above wary eyes and a deepening frown.

  Brynn pressed closer, looming above him now, her hair pooling onto his chest as she swept her finger lightly, teasingly, across his mouth, then tapped his lower lip. “Stick out your tongue.”

  She thought he might refuse, but after an indecisive silence, he obeyed.

  Heartened by the victory, she leaned in and caressed his tongue with her own. A silky, swirling lick. A bold, sensuous foray. He rose to meet her, to draw her into an actual kiss.

  She pulled back, evading him. “Uh-uh,” she scolded, her face ablaze with erotic warmth. “I’m using your tongue now, not your mouth. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for that.”

  Surprise sparked where the wariness had been, deep within the brown-gold gaze that so mesmerized her.

  Holding that gaze, she shifted onto her knees and unbuttoned her peasant blouse. She let it fall from her shoulders, catch on her forearms and drape across her back, while she unhooked the strapless lace bra from between her breasts.

  The dusky color of arousal deepened the natural bronze of Cade’s skin as he watched her. He pushed himself up onto his forearm so his face was level with her breasts as she bared them.

  With a slight arch of her back, she projected one nipple toward his mouth, and was rewarded with the instant darkening of his eyes. “Open,” she murmured. “I’m not done using your tongue yet.”

  Sexy little crescents creased alongside his mouth in the hint of a sardonic smile. And with a slow, deliberate reach of his tongue, he licked that nipple—only the nipple—with the very tip. Shards of pleasure radiated through her from the light, brief contact, and her nipple puckered. He then blew a soft, cool current of air against it, causing it to draw into a tight bead.

  A rush of breath escaped her.

  He raised his eyes to hers with a heated gleam—an unspoken dare to continue.

  Her voice shook only slightly as she whispered, “Again.”

  He extended his tongue once more and circled the pebbled tip of her breast, moving his head in tiny rotations, his eyes closed in concentration. The sight alone turned her on. The sensation nearly undid her. Quicksilver stabs of pleasure flashed into her very core.

  But she didn’t intend to lose control. At least, not until he did.

  He closed his lips around the hig
hly sensitized crest and drew it in deeper with hot, wet suction. Feeling the tug resonate between her legs, she breathed, “No,” and forced herself to pull back when she wanted to press forward. “We’re still using the tongue,” she croaked, “and only the tongue. Not the whole mouth yet.”

  Blinking as if disoriented by the sudden withdrawal of her breast, he frowned at her.

  Light-headed with voluptuous heat, she brought the other breast to his mouth. “Tongue.”

  He obeyed without hesitation, setting instantly to work, gliding over the already marbled tip with the flat of his tongue in long, slow licks, as if savoring a particularly luscious lollipop.

  She wallowed in erotic bliss. She couldn’t allow this to go on for very long, though. Her womb was now contracting in hot waves of reaction. Her breath skidded and surged in her throat. Light flashed beneath her eyelids, like flames leaping and dancing to a compelling beat.

  So involved was she that she barely noticed when he tugged her forgotten blouse from her arms, splayed his hands across her back and pulled her to him, taking her down, until she lay writhing in pleasure beneath his questing mouth.

  But when sensation shot through her other breast, too, she grabbed at the hand that fondled her there.

  “Did I say ‘hand’?” she cried, trapping the marauder against her breast, even as he drew her other nipple into the hot, swirling vortex of his mouth. “No, I didn’t.” She wrapped her fingers in the silky thickness of his hair and lightly tugged. “Who’s using whom here?”

  With a moan of protest, he raised his head and regarded her with hot-eyed impatience.

  “I’m using you,” she said in emphatic reply to her own question, her dominatrix tone spoiled by the tremor in her voice. “And I believe we’ll have fewer complications if I use you one body part at a time.”