“I’m surprised Chief Bradley lets you patrol alone,” Blue said.
Lucy’s smile vanished. “Why? Because I’m a woman or because I’m a Yankee?”
“Because you’re a rookie.”
“I had Leroy Hurley handled,” Lucy remarked, her dark eyes flashing. “Until Andy got his gun.”
Blue nodded, forcing his gaze out and into the distance, down Main Street, toward the marina. How long had it been since he’d been with a woman? Two months? Three? Longer? He honestly couldn’t remember. He usually didn’t pay his sexual appetite much mind—until it sat up and demanded priority attention.
Like right now.
In a flash he could picture Lucy standing in the warm rain, sans uniform, water washing down her lean, shapely female body—full, soft breasts; flat stomach; slim hips; dangerously long, well-muscled thighs…. The image sent an intense rush of heat through him, heat he knew she’d be able to see in his eyes.
It was strange. In the past, Blue had always been attracted to the overly feminine type—the helpless type of woman who wore lots of frills and lace and needed to be rescued. It was true that he had in fact come to Lucy’s rescue more than once, but both times she’d certainly been doing her best to save herself. She was independent and strong. Even though she was soaking wet and only a rookie, she wore her police uniform and the gun at her side with an air of authority and competence. That should have pushed him back a step or two. Instead, he found himself inching forward, trying to get closer.
“I assumed Andy was harmless,” Lucy was saying with a frown. “I focused on Leroy and didn’t pay Andy any attention. That was my big mistake.”
“Never assume anything,” Blue said. He could tell from the way she met his gaze, then suddenly looked away, that she had gotten a glimpse of the fire in his eyes. She blushed, a tinge of pink darkening her cheeks as she looked down at the mud-encrusted radio and ticket pad she still held in her hands. She slipped the pad into her belt and tried to wipe the radio clean. She appeared to be intent on fixing her equipment, but she couldn’t keep from glancing at him out of the corners of her eyes.
Suddenly, Blue remembered the rumor he’d heard his senior year in high school that the little Yankee freshman girl had a crush on him. He’d been flattered and amused, and as kind to the girl as he could be without leading her on.
Was it possible that Lucy’s high-school crush had survived all these years?
Blue had noticed right from the first moment he’d spotted her sitting in the Grill that she wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Was it possible that Lucy was still single, still unattached?
Blue had come to Hatboro Creek today out of obligation. He’d come with every intention of enduring his visit—he hadn’t planned to enjoy any of it. But he was on leave, and his leave time was infrequent and irregular. Why not take hold of an opportunity and have a little pleasure, especially since that pleasure seemed to be handing itself to him on a silver platter? Why not? Especially since the attraction he was feeling right now was stronger than anything he’d felt in a long, long time.
“I, um, I better go,” Lucy said. “I’ll need to fill out a report and…” She turned toward him, using the back of one hand to push her wet hair from her face, but succeeding in leaving a streak of mud on her cheek. “Can I give you a ride somewhere? Are you staying at your brother’s?”
As Lucy watched, Blue glanced up at the cloudy sky as if noticing the rain for the first time. It was finally starting to let up. He pushed his hair back from his face but didn’t meet Lucy’s eyes again. “No,” he said. “Jenny Lee has already moved into Gerry’s place. I thought it would be better if I stayed at the motel. And it’s not far. I can walk there probably faster than you could drive.”
Lucy nodded, wishing almost inanely that he would smile at her again, or that he would look at her and let her get a second glance at that slow-burning heat she’d imagined she’d seen in his eyes. But it had to be just that—imagined. Blue McCoy would never be interested in her.
Would he?
“I wish I could think of a way to thank you properly for what you did,” she said, backing away.
He stepped toward her, following. “I can think of a way,” he said in his soft drawl. “There’s a party tonight at the country club, a sort of rehearsal dinner for Saturday’s wedding. Come as my date.”
Lucy stopped short. Her first reaction was to laugh. This had to be some sort of joke. Go to Hatboro Creek’s exclusive country club—on a date with Blue McCoy, her childhood hero? But Blue wasn’t laughing. He was…serious?
Why? Lucy searched his eyes, looking for the reason he’d asked her out. Why? There had to be a reason.
She found the answer in the heat in his eyes, as clear as day.
Sex.
He was a man and she was a woman, and although his invitation had been to attend a fancy, high-society party, what he really wanted to do with her wouldn’t require any kind of party dress at all. She could see all that in his eyes—and more.
Lucy was floored.
Blue McCoy wanted her. He wanted her. He was actually physically attracted to and interested in the tall, skinny, gawky, awkward Yankee tomboy, Lucy Tait.
Oh, she had no misconceptions about the extent of his desire. It was purely sexual. There were no emotions involved. At least not from his end. But it was clear from the look in his eyes that if she went on this date with him, he was going to do his damnedest to see that she didn’t get home tonight until well after dawn.
A clear and extremely erotic image of Blue pulling her down with him onto his bed at the Lighthouse Motel flashed through Lucy’s mind. Tangled arms and legs, seeking mouths, straining bodies, skin slick with sweat and desire…Strobelike pictures bombarded Lucy’s senses, along with a thousand other thoughts.
She had been plenty reckless and wild before—but never in her personal life. As crazy as she’d been with her career, Lucy had always been extremely careful when it came to relationships. But ever since she’d first laid eyes on Blue McCoy at age fifteen, she’d desperately wanted to run her fingers through his thick, dark blond hair.
Lucy knew she meant nothing to Blue and would no doubt continue to mean nothing to him, even if he slept with her. She’d never made love to a man before without knowing that their relationship was going to grow, without hoping for some kind of permanence. Yet Blue was in town for only a few days—a week at the most. Chances were that he wouldn’t be back. Maybe not for another twelve years.
As she gazed up at Blue, he reached out and touched the side of her face, gently wiping what was no doubt a smudge of dirt from her cheek with his thumb. His hand was warm, warmer even than the rain, and his touch sent a wave of fire spiraling through her, down to the depths of her very soul.
She couldn’t help herself. She reached up and touched his hair. It was wet, but still soft and thick. It was remarkable. One small movement and she was living one of her wildest dreams.
Blue’s eyelids grew heavy at her touch, heavy with pleasure—and satisfaction. He’d won, and he knew it.
“I’ll pick you up at 1900…seven o’clock,” Blue said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Or would you rather meet me over there, at the club?”
Lucy found herself nodding. Yes. “I’ll meet you there,” she breathed. Dear God, yes, she was going to do this. She was going to go to this party with Blue McCoy, and later…Later, she was going to live out one of her most powerful, most decadent fantasies.
It wasn’t until after he walked her back to her patrol car, until after he went inside the Grill for the rest of his lunch and his duffel bag and with a nod headed toward the motel, and until after Sarah drove by in her little black Honda Accord, giving Lucy a toot of her horn and a big thumbs-up, that reality crashed in.
What the hell did Lucy think she was doing? Was a one-night stand with Blue McCoy—no matter that he was the man of her hottest dreams—worth the talk and gossip and speculative looks she’d have to endure weeks and
even months after he’d gone? Was one night—or even two or three nights—worth the silence that was sure to follow? Because Lucy had no false expectations. Blue would not write. He would not call. He could be killed on a training mission, and she’d be the very last to know.
Could she really love a man she knew would be loving someone else, some other woman, this time next month—or hell, maybe even next week?
She wished she could call Edgar, wished she could tell him about Blue’s invitation, wished they could talk it over, hash it out. But even though Edgar wasn’t around, Lucy knew exactly what he would have said.
Go for it.
Edgar was the only person Lucy had ever told about her high-school crush on Blue. He was the only one who had known that she still carried a torch for a guy she never even really knew.
Yeah, go for it was what Edgar would have said.
And then he would have reminded her to have safe sex.
Safe sex. Now there was an oxymoron if Lucy had ever heard one. A condom would help with some of the physical dangers. But what about her emotional safety? What kind of protection could she use to ensure herself that?
Down at the police station, Lucy went through the motions, taking a shower; putting on a clean, dry uniform; filling out the forms and reports. But all afternoon, she asked herself the same questions over and over again. Could she really go out with Blue tonight, knowing damn well where it was going to lead?
The answer wavered between Edgar’s possible go for it and no. No, it wasn’t worth it. No, she couldn’t do this. Could she? How could she pass up her wildest, hottest sexual fantasy?
But every time she told herself no and started to pick up the phone to dial the Lighthouse Motel, where Blue was staying, Lucy remembered the liquid desire in his eyes and the hot touch of his hand on her face.
She remembered the answering pull of her own longing and need, the promise of a wild, reckless passion the likes of which she’d never known.
And she knew exactly why she’d said yes.
2
Lucy pulled her truck into the Hatboro Country Club’s elegant driveway, feeling out of place. She parked in the back lot, unwilling to leave the keys to her trusty but beat-up old Ford four-by-four with the valets. She couldn’t stand the thought of them snickering as they pulled it alongside the Town Cars and Cadillacs. She also wasn’t sure she could handle walking in the front entrance of the posh country club wearing this little black dress she’d borrowed from Sarah. Little was the key word. It was sleeveless, with a sweetheart neckline and a keyhole back, and it hugged Lucy’s body, ending many, many inches above her knees. On Sarah, the tight skirt had been short, but Lucy was at least four inches taller than her friend. Aided further by high heels, the dress made Lucy’s long legs appear as if they went on forever—an effect, Sarah had pointed out, that would not be lost on Blue McCoy.
Lucy glanced in one of the mirrors that lined the hall as she went in the country club’s back door.
Sarah had fixed her hair, too, piling it on top of her head. It seemed as if Lucy had casually swept it up off her neck, but in reality the carefree look had taken the solid part of a half hour to achieve.
She was also wearing more than her usual dab of lip gloss. Mascara, liner and shadow adorned her brown eyes, and blush accentuated her wide cheekbones.
Lucy looked like…somebody else. Instead of skinny, she looked slender, her legs long and graceful. Instead of girl-next-door average, she looked exotic, glamorous and mysteriously sexy.
Blue probably wasn’t going to recognize her. She could barely recognize herself.
Which made sense, because Lucy certainly didn’t recognize this odd sensation she felt, knowing that she was here to meet a man who was practically a stranger—a stranger who could very well be her lover before the night was through.
Blue McCoy.
But he wasn’t a stranger. Not really. After all, he’d been her hero for years. He was pure masculine perfection—if you went for the big, brooding, enigmatic type. And Lucy definitely did.
Music was playing in the country club’s big ballroom, and it filtered down toward Lucy. She started up the stairs, heart pounding; she knew that Blue was somewhere up there near that pulsating music.
The country club had undergone changes in its interior decor since the last time she had been there. She couldn’t remember what color the thick wall-to-wall carpeting had been, but she was positive that it hadn’t been this deep, almost smoky shade of pink. The wallpaper was different, too, a muted collection of flowers and squiggles, in tasteful off-whites and beiges and various shades of that same dark pink.
Her high heels made no noise at all on the plush carpeting as she moved down the corridor toward the ballroom.
The lights in the ballroom had been dimmed, and hundreds of candles had been placed around the room—on the dining tables, on the serving tables, even in candlesticks mounted on the walls. The effect was lovely, giving the entire room a flickering, golden, fairy-tale like glow.
The dining tables covered half the room, leaving the other half of the hardwood floor open for dancing. A small band—drums, keyboard and guitar—was set up in the corner opposite the bar.
Lucy recognized many of the people scattered about the big room. It was a who’s who of the county’s wealthiest and most powerful citizens. The police chief and his wife were there, as was the president of the bank. The mayor and his wife were chatting with the owner of Carolina Island, the seaside resort located several miles north of the Hatboro Creek town line.
The women wore glittering gowns and the men were dressed in black tuxedos—all except for one. One man—Blue McCoy—was dressed in the resplendent, almost shimmering white of a naval dress uniform. As he turned, the candlelight gleamed on the rows and rows and rows of ribbons and medals he wore on his chest.
His shoulders appeared impossibly broad, with his well-tailored uniform jacket tapering down to his lean hips. He wore officer’s insignia, and Lucy was reminded that Blue was a full lieutenant—unless he’d been even further promoted since the last time she’d asked Gerry about his stepbrother’s naval career.
He was carrying a white hat in his hands. His hair, a dark, shining golden blond, reflected the dim light. He was talking to Mitch Casey, the chairman of Hatboro Creek’s chamber of commerce. Blue’s tanned face looked so serious, so stern, as he nodded at something Casey was saying. He was listening intently, but his blue eyes kept straying toward the front entrance, as if he were waiting for someone. Her? Lucy felt a flash of pleasure. He was. Blue McCoy was watching and waiting for her.
He held himself slightly stiffly, as if he wasn’t quite comfortable in his surroundings. But why should he be? Gerry and his father were the ones who had had the memberships to the country club. Throughout high school, Blue had chosen to hang out and work down by the docks where he kept his little powerboat.
Even when Blue was dating Jenny Lee Beaumont he had stayed away from the country-club set. He’d been a loner back in high school, with only one or two friends who were also outcasts or misfits. He wore a leather jacket and rode a motorcycle that he’d rebuilt from parts, yet unlike the other tough kids, his grades were exceptionally above average. Still, he had a reputation for being a troublemaker simply because he looked the part.
Even back in high school Blue had been slow to smile. He’d been serious and quietly watchful, missing nothing but rarely stepping in. Unless, of course, the cruel teenaged teasing and rudeness went beyond the limits—like the time five members of the boys’ junior-varsity baseball team decided to demonstrate just how unhappy they were that a girl, a Yankee girl, had made the cut and gotten onto the team.
Lucy could hold her own in a fair fight, but five to one were tough odds.
Until Blue fearlessly stepped in, ending the violence with his mere presence. The other kids had learned to keep their distance from him, wary of his quietly seething temper and his ability—and willingness—to fight. And to fight dirty, if h
e had to.
Apparently he’d had to more than a few times.
According to the story Lucy had heard, Blue had been five when Gerry’s father had adopted the little boy out of obligation. Apparently neither Blue nor Mr. McCoy had been overly happy about that, but Blue had had nowhere else to go. Blue had grown up in his elder stepbrother’s shadow, clearly a burden to his stepfather. Was it any wonder that the little boy should have quickly become self-sufficient and self-reliant? And quietly grim?
Was it any wonder that both the boy and the man he’d become were watchful, intensely serious and slow to smile?
Lucy remembered the way Blue had smiled at her that afternoon. Had Blue smiled at Jenny Lee that way back in high school? It was hard to believe that he had. If he had, with a smile like that, surely Jenny would be marrying Blue this coming Saturday rather than his elder stepbrother.
As Lucy watched, Blue’s attention was pulled away from both the main entrance and Mitch Casey when Gerry McCoy and Jenny Lee Beaumont swept onto the dance floor.
Jenny was wearing a long, pink dress that set off her soft, blond curls and her peaches-and-cream complexion. It had been fifteen years since she’d been in high school, but her skin was still smooth and clear. She still looked like the captain of the cheerleading squad, with her sweet smile and perfect, beautiful features—a fact that no doubt had helped her land her job as entertainment news reporter for the local TV station.
Gerry, however, looked tense, his smile forced as he led his bride-to-be in a slow dance. Was he feeling threatened, perhaps, by his stepbrother’s larger-than-life presence?
Physically, the two men couldn’t have been less alike. Gerry was taller than Blue but slighter, almost willowy, if that word could be used to describe a man. Although they both had blond hair, Gerry’s was a lighter, paler shade, and his hair was fine and slightly thinning on top, not thick and wavy like Blue’s. And though Blue’s smiles were scarce, Gerry’s were almost constant. In fact, Gerry’s carefree, fun-time, no-worries attitude contrasted so sharply with Blue’s serious intensity that Lucy found it hard to believe the two men had lived under the same roof as young boys. It seemed almost impossible that they’d shared a home and not driven each other crazy with their different approaches to life.
Tall, Dark and Dangerous Part 1 Page 29
