Dead Calm

by Lindsay Longford

  Tomorrow would come soon enough.

  And in the meantime, here was Judah, filling her world with taste, with touch, with himself.

  Easy, for the moment, so easy to let herself forget the ugliness. So tempting, this surrender to feeling, to the physical anodyne of what they were doing. Surrender to the power, to the wave of pleasure.

  There were worse ways to end a day.

  Chapter 4

  He should have gone home.

  Even as Judah slicked back the tangled hair hiding her ear and tasted her, he knew he should get up from the heat of her body, the salty tang of her skin, and leave.

  He knew it. Like fingernails scraping down a chalkboard, his brain screeched warnings. Yet he lingered in the illusive comfort of her arms.

  Stayed.

  And hated himself.

  Weakness, this craving to touch and taste. He despised himself for the need, for the loss of will. He hated this weakness that mewed stay when he knew he should flee as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.

  Weakness.

  And yet…

  He stroked the slight swell of her flattened breast and lost himself in the warming whiteness of it, spellbound by the rose flush that crept upward from his touch.

  A murmur. A sharp inhalation. Hers. The subtle accommodation of her hips to him fascinated him, whispered to the maleness in him, sang a silent siren song of movement and scent and urgency.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” he said.

  “You’re wrong. At the moment it makes all the sense in the world.”

  “You? Me? No.” His brain kept jabbering and screeching, a discordancy of mind and logic against the need for touch and taste. “This is stupid.” He braced himself on his forearms, his hands framing her face and made himself look at her, forced himself to breathe the cool air and not her scent, made himself look at the woman who’d caused George’s death.

  Dark streaks against white sand and green pine, her hair fanned out from her round face. She looked back at him, knowledge and sadness and sympathy blurring the blue-gray of her eyes.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Sophie.”

  “How am I looking at you, Judah?” Quiet as sunlight moving across a wood floor, her voice feathered over him.

  “I’m only—”

  “Don’t,” he said again.

  “Don’t what, Judah?”

  “Just…don’t.”

  “Ah, Judah.” There was something like regret in that barely heard exhalation, something too much like pity.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her palm lift toward him. Before she could touch him, he fanned his hand across her face, stroked the skin at the corner of her eyes and drew her eyelids closed.

  He hated her for the way she made him feel. Hated her for the sympathy in her eyes. Hated her most of all for the understanding glimmering there, an understanding so close to pity he couldn’t bear it. She had no right to see straight down to whatever passed for a soul in the darkness of his heart.

  And yet he wanted her. Wanted her. Hated her. And despised himself. A sickness of body and mind he didn’t want to escape.

  In that moment when the wind ceased, when all he heard was the pounding of his blood in his head, he learned a truth.

  Despite logic, despite loyalty, despite everything, he was going to have Sophie Brennan.

  He didn’t want to think about how he was going to live with that choice. Not with her soft and yielding beneath him.

  With a quick, fierce movement, he pulled open the fastener of her pants. Her hands were right there on top of his, urging the skintight material down. Caught in the immediacy, he gritted his teeth and struggled with his jeans. Their hands bumped, tangled. She pushed his bumbling fingers aside. He pushed right back, hands and fingers melding in a dance of their own.

  “Wait.” She lifted her pelvis and shoved the fabric past her belly.

  “No.” Cool, damp, that skin suddenly under his palm. He dipped his mouth to her navel and blew softly against her.

  Her belly fluttered beneath his mouth. “Ah,” she said, a tight, sharp sound of surprise.

  He flattened his hand against her and pressed, his fingers stroking, testing her inner heat. “Here?”

  “Oh, yes. There is good. There is perfect. There…ah.” One of her hands tightened in his hair, the other slid between them, seeking him as he continued pressing and stroking.

  “Oh, yes,” and she surged upward, riding the rhythm of his touch as she’d melded with the storm waves. Urgency swamped finesse and he was clumsy, pushing and probing, the blind eye of need driving him into her. Awkward in his haste, no grace in the hurrying, no skill in his movements.

  A sixteen-year-old would have had more control.

  But she was in the moment with him, just as urgent, just as needy. The impatient sounds of her breathing merged with his, spoke to him in the silence.

  He felt the wet denim of his jeans snick open, felt her warm hand, exploring, moving against his belly. Not shy, not delicate, her hands were those of a woman used to touching and examining, accustomed to the feel of the human body. Knowing. Confident. Incredibly seductive, that confidence. Behind his eyes a red haze burned. Then she freed him into the small curl of her hand and he bucked, thrust against her.

  Need. Ugly.

  Hunger roared through him, primal, finally blanking the monkey chatter in his brain. “Now,” he ground out through teeth clenched against the pleasure racing through him. “Now.”

  He lifted her hips higher, positioned her, but she was ahead of him, already moving into him, her body welcoming and warm.

  “Don’t—” She shifted, her body opening and taking him deeper, toward the limits of his shaky control.

  “You want me to stop?” The muscles in his arms trembled. But he stopped. He would have sworn he couldn’t have. But he did. Head lowered, teeth clenched against a suddenly dry mouth, his whole body shuddering, he said again, “Stop? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No. Not that. Heaven help me, not that.” Her laugh was rueful, a coil of tension deep inside her that vibrated unbearably through him. Rising upward, she framed his face with her hands. “Don’t stop. That’s what I was trying to say.” Her head dipped into his shoulder, and she felt her breath against his skin as she murmured, “Don’t be careful with me. I don’t want politeness.”

  “Believe me, manners are the last thing on my mind.” His thighs quivered with the effort needed to stay unmoving.

  “What…do you want?” He heard himself and was stunned. He couldn’t say her name. Drowning in her, he couldn’t say her name. Didn’t want to. “Tell me.”

  “The storm wave. Wildness. The deep blue sea. Can you give me that? I need—” She nipped at his skin, the scrape of her teeth a tiny command that slammed him over the edge.

  Nothing but sensation in this moment, nothing but the blessed relief of skin against skin, touch and taste. Her body milking his, his palms sliding over the hot skin of her thigh, his touch sending shudders through her, through him.

  Sex.

  Simple. Something clear in his life for a change. Sex.

  He surrendered to it, to her, letting the reins of control whip through his hands, letting himself sink into the whirlpool of sensation that was this woman.

  And he didn’t care in that moment of release as his body pumped into hers in pure sensation, didn’t give a damn as he collapsed against her, that he couldn’t look in her eyes.

  That he wouldn’t let himself say her name.

  His cheek resting on the damp hair at her temple, he breathed in the light scent of her sweat, the salty air of the Gulf.

  Overhead he sensed the movement of clouds, heard the angry squawk of seagulls.

  For the first time in months, everything in his body and brain had stopped. He felt like a shell shimmering on the sand, abandoned by the tide.

  Empty, washed clean.

  And he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, to slide into that dark
ness and stay there, unmoving.

  The wind came off the Gulf and raised goose bumps everywhere Judah wasn’t. Sophie shivered, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t. She needed a minute to think. She couldn’t believe what she’d done. She’d just taken, dived headlong into the moment with no thought of consequences. She’d come off the waves with her anger and confusion not eased by the wild surf, and there was Judah. Frowning, hostile, but he was there, draped in seaweed and sending off waves of energy that bounced against her own unsettled emotions, his energy smashing against her own. Wind against current, the ninth wave of surfing, the big wave, the one surfers waited for.

  Unthinking, not caring why he’d shown up, not wanting to think about the reasons for his anger, she’d simply reached out and clambered aboard the wave of their energy, ridden it to the end. It had been worth it, too, every second of that intensity.

  Stupid?

  Sure. Of course it was. No protection. All the questions about their relationship. The torturous mix of emotions. And in the aftermath, this loneliness and emptiness. But for those few minutes… She turned her head slightly and stared at the sand. Did she regret what she’d done?

  Yes. No. Maybe.

  She groaned.

  At the sound, Judah shifted against her, moved away. Minus the blanket of his body, she was cold. Her teeth clicked together. Wrapping her arms around herself, she sat up. Her scalp itched with sand and dried salt. At least there weren’t any mirrors close at hand. Fine. She’d made her bed. She’d lie in it. So to speak. She pulled her top closed.

  Beside her, she glimpsed Judah’s movements as he struggled to ease himself back into salt-stiffened jeans.

  “So.” She stood up, caught the quick, sideways glance he threw her way. He was embarrassed. And now she was, too. Hideously embarrassed. And defensive. What had she done? And why?

  Well, she could answer that question. She shoved her hair out of her face and took a deep breath. Could the aftermath of her craziness get any more humiliating?

  “You must be wondering—” He cleared his throat.

  “What must I be wondering, Judah? Tell me?”

  “Why I’m here. What’s up.”

  “I think that question’s been pretty well answered.”

  He frowned, looked away. Then, taking a deep breath, he continued doggedly. “Why I’m here. You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t know why you showed up on my doorstep. Tell me. Why did you come all the way out here, Judah? Not for a quick romp on the beach after a crazy day, I’m guessing? Delightful though it was. Or perhaps not so delightful?”

  “I’m sorry—”

  Palm up, she slapped his chest. “Don’t take that highway, Judah. I mean it. What happened, happened. Sorry doesn’t even enter into it.” She tried to scrape her hair back from her face, tried to sort through the mess of emotions rolling over her like an avalanche. One was as impossible as the other. “There were two of us here. Nobody forced anybody to do anything. Let it go. I’m going to.” She sighed in spite of herself and turned toward the house.

  His hand closed around her upper arm. “Can you?”

  She jerked her head up. “Absolutely. You think I can’t?”

  “There might be problems.” His frown deepened.

  “There are always problems. With everything.” She laughed. “Haven’t you learned that, Judah?” She heard the curl of something in her voice and realized she was losing it. “But as for the particular problems I think you mean, they’re not issues.”

  Dark red slashed across his cheekbones.

  “As for any other concerns, you don’t have to worry about those, either. Medical personnel get stuck with needles more times than I can count. We’re human pincushions. So we’re tested all the time. There. All better?” She smiled sweetly. “And what about you? Do I need to worry?”

  “No.” His hand remained tight around her arm. “You don’t. Not about that.”

  “Well, fine, then.” She made her smile bigger, as bright as she could. “Two consenting adults having themselves a fine old moment of bliss then. Everything’s kosher, right? Or should I say ‘right as rain’? Hard for a Yankee girl to keep up with all the gee-whillikers phrases.”

  “Don’t be snide. You’re babbling, you know.” His grip tightened. His frown had vanished. “Not like you to babble, Sophie.”

  “Oh, you finally remember my name?”

  His frown flashed. He dropped his hand. Took a step back.

  “Yes, I noticed, Judah, that you couldn’t seem to say my name. I noticed, too, that you couldn’t look me in the eyes. Cops aren’t the only ones who pay attention to body language, Judah.”

  He shook his head, started to speak.

  “If you say ‘I’m sorry’ again, I swear I won’t be responsible.”

  “All right!” He threw up his hands. “I’m not one damned bit sorry!”

  “Fine!” Her temper crashed against his. “Because I’m not either! So there.” She stomped off, anger blazing away the cold.

  He followed her slowly. “We sound like a couple of four-year-olds, you know.”

  She stopped at her screen door and faced him. “We do. You’re absolutely right. But I don’t want to talk about this, Judah. I really mean that. It happened. It’s over. I don’t want to get involved in some kind of beat-it-to-death discussion of the whys and wherefores. Not today. Please.” She gripped the frame of the door. Evidently humiliation and embarrassment were going to have no limit this morning. “If you can just leave, go away, go do your cop business, I’ll be a happy woman. I can’t deal with any point-by-point analysis, okay?”

  “Isn’t that usually the guy’s line? And you’ve always liked to talk.” His eyes were busy, watching her every movement.

  “Judah, it was fine, earth-shaking. You were terrific. Nobody better. Okay? Okay?” Her voice rose and she yanked the door open, wanting nothing more than the comfort of her own space. Silence. She needed silence and solitude. “Is that what you want? A nice round of applause?” She gave three quick taps of her palms together. “There. All better?”

  “No.”

  “What then?”

  “I didn’t plan what happened.”

  Her laugh broke free, a little manic, a lot frantic. “That was pretty obvious.”

  “That,” he tilted his head toward the beach, “happened. But that wasn’t why I rode out here. I’m here on cop business, Sophie.”

  Her laugh stuttered. “What? I don’t understand? What business?”

  “I need to ask you some questions.”

  “About?”

  “The beating victim you treated last night.”

  Her eyes met his. “Oh.” The cloud of exhaustion she thought she’d escaped in the waves, then in those strange moments with Judah, settled around her again. “Of course. She wasn’t your case, was she?”

  “No. But I have some questions about her.”

  Tapping the doorframe lightly, she stared at him. “All right. Come on in.”

  On the porch, she brushed sand away, let it sift to the wood planks. Behind her, she heard the brush of his hands against his jeans, heard sand drift from his clothes.

  Ridiculous. Judah, here? In her house? After what had just happened on the beach, they were now going to talk business? Insane. She’d tumbled into Alice-in-Wonderland country. “I’ll make tea.”

  “I drink coffee.”

  “I don’t have coffee.” She led him through the huge, open living room back to the kitchen. “Tea. Plain, no herbs, no choices. Can you deal with that?”

  “If I have to. Tea’s a pretty sissy drink for a tough cookie like you, Dr. Sugar.”

  She whirled. Her sand-gritty hair slapped her cheek. “Don’t push it, Judah. Not this morning. Drink your tea. Ask your questions. Leave.”

  He prowled her kitchen, not touching anything, just roaming, checking out the territory. Guys. One way or another, they had to mark their territory. She leaned against the sink, deliberately making hers
elf motionless, not going with the rhythm of his movements, not giving into the agitation ratcheting through her.

  Not subtle. She knew from the lift of his eyebrow that he’d read her message. But he kept moving around, and it was all she could do to make herself stay in one place, not to become a shadow cursor of his restlessness. As he watched her shift, a tight smile picked at the corners of his mouth.

  Oh heavens. His mouth. Sophie shoved away from the sink. She grabbed the teakettle from the stove. Judah’s mouth. His mouth, moving on her, touching her. Images flashed in her mind. What had she done? Her face flamed. She shoved up the faucet lever, letting water gush into the kettle, splash onto the floor.

  “Nervous?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Finnegan.” She snapped the gas knob to full flame.

  “No tip-toeing around for Dr. Brennan. I’m impressed.”

  “I said I’ve talked as much as I want to about what happened. I wasn’t kidding, Judah. Sex is sex. I’m no sixteen-year-old virgin.”

  “And I can’t tell you how happy that fact makes me.” He shot her that look again. “A woman of much experience, are you?”

  “Enough.” If possible, her face burned brighter. Let him think whatever he wanted to think. She didn’t care. Of course she didn’t. “I won’t pretend nothing happened. I just don’t want to get into this discussion. Can you get that through your thick head? Or is all this persistence part of being a cop? And for Pete’s sake, can’t you stay in one place? You’re making me dizzy!”

  In the stubble and angles of his face, a real, honest-to-God grin finally flashed. “Yeah. I can see that.” A snarky lift of one eyebrow mated with the grin. “I’m guessing, oh, three? That about right? That much experience?”

  The whistle of the kettle saved her. She took two mugs from the dish drainer by the sink, plopped tea bags into them and filled the mugs with hot water. “Here.”

  He took the napkin and spoon she thrust at him. “Sugar?”

  “What? What?” For a weird second, she’d thought he meant something else. “On the table. Sit. Drink.”