Do Not Disturb

by Christie Ridgway

  “Cooper!” There was a thread of panic in her voice. Her fingers yanked at his hair.

  He glanced at her, ignoring the way her knees squeezed against his shoulders. “This is what I want,” he said.

  “No.” She was trying to scoot back. “This isn’t…this isn’t the way—”

  “This is one of the ways.” He held her hips steady, and he could feel her femoral pulses drumming against his thumbs. “You’re not afraid, are you?”

  She hesitated. “Yes.”

  It shocked the hell out of him that she admitted it. “No, this doesn’t scare you.”

  Her eyes were wide. “Yes, yes, it does.”

  Oh, Angel. “Then close your eyes, baby, and count to ten. If at eleven you want me to stop, I will.”

  Her body was stiff as he bent his head. When he touched her creamy softness with his tongue, she jerked, her fingers pulling on his hair again. But he knew she hadn’t started counting yet, knew she would never get to eleven, because as he continued to stroke her, taste her, enjoy her, her body lifted toward him.

  Her legs, which had been pressing hard against his shoulders, relaxed. Now he could hold her open and take her in. He found every secret, his heart pounding with each one of her moans, his blood burning and his body aching as the sweetness of her arousal filled his mouth.

  And it was all the sweeter because it was an intimacy that he’d demanded, and that he’d made her surrender.

  He felt the tension of orgasm building in her body, her muscles were shaking with it, and then he latched onto the most sensitive part of her and drew the pleasure from her, for her, commanding every tremor, every cry.

  When he moved away from her, she was sprawled across the sheets, her limbs as he’d left them, open to him. It was the most beautiful, the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her. It ratcheted his own desire two more turns, and he had to force himself to breathe slowly as he quickly undressed. Then he repositioned himself between her opened legs again.

  She moaned. “Cooper.”

  Her resistance was weak, his determination strong, and it was so damn easy to recoil her arousal, just by circling his tongue in his now-favorite territory. She was on the edge again in minutes, trusting him to take her to pleasure.

  When he felt her give that trust, he lifted his head and quickly turned her body and pulled her onto her knees. “That’s one way sex can be,” he said hoarsely. “Here’s another.”

  He thrust, hard, into the hot, wet glove of her.

  She moaned.

  He thrust once more, his climax approaching fast and furious. With one hand he braced himself against the mattress, with the other he found her clitoris again. She was pushing back against his hips, gasping, as he drove himself into her. Not cautious, not careful, his mind not on innocence, but intimacy.

  When she came, he continued thrusting, reveling in the way her body shook against his. It was her last tremor, her final moan that triggered his own climax. Sliding his hand up to her belly, he pressed her body tightly against his, hoping she was feeling what she did to him, hoping she would find pleasure in the pleasure she brought to him.

  When he fell against the mattress, finally sated, she wiggled out from under him and placed a tender kiss upon his mouth. Then she sighed. “Okay, okay. I admit it. The missionaries have nothing on you.”

  He had only enough energy to smile.

  She found his discarded T-shirt, pulled it on, then curled against his chest like a seashell on the sand. They were both drifting into sleep when a thought suddenly struck him. “Angel?”

  “Mmm.”

  He smiled against her hair, satisfied with the smug, drowsy note in her voice. “When you said you used to fake it…well, how can you fake something you’ve never felt before?”

  She stirred, snuggling her cheek into the hollow of his shoulder. He kissed her hair. “Baby?”

  “I never said I hadn’t felt one,” she answered sleepily.

  “Huh?”

  She chuckled. “Cooper. And you think you know women.” She rubbed her face against his bare skin. “I wasn’t kidding about the vibrator, silly.”

  Chapter 16

  Judd was crouching beside the rosemary bush outside Tranquility House’s kitchen door when a bright voice sounded behind him.

  “There you are!”

  Beth’s tanned, slender feet strolled into his field of vision. She wore leather thongs that buckled below the ankle. Directly below where that diamond-and-platinum anklet seemed to maliciously wink at him in the early morning sunlight.

  “You haven’t been by since that day in the tower, so I thought I’d come to you.” She thrust a mug of steaming coffee under his nose. “If anyone asks, I’ll swear it’s decaf.”

  He slowly stood, looking down at what he carried in the hammock he’d made with his T-shirt instead of looking at her. He’d played the strong, silent rock in her life and he was afraid she’d see how close Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected was to fracturing.

  “What do you have there?” she asked. “More feral kittens?” Before he could move away, she was pulling at his shirt to get a better look. She bent lower, and the ends of her shiny black hair swung forward. Judd stared at the soft skin at the nape of her neck.

  Distracted, he didn’t notice when she first moved her hand. He had to wrench away so the arching, angry-kitten claws that had already done a number on him wouldn’t mar her smooth skin. The abrupt action turned the squirming creatures into bundles of desperate, climbing fur. By the time he had them under control again, he had even more scratches on his arm. The stinging pain on his belly told him they’d probably nailed him a couple of times there too.

  But at least he had an excuse to turn away from Beth. In the kitchen, he deposited the wild kittens inside the box he’d readied and then headed for the infirmary.

  Beth dogged his footsteps, but he pretended not to notice. He even managed to shut the heavy door in her face.

  But the damn thing didn’t have a lock. Within a heartbeat she was inside too, with the door shut again and her back leaning against it. “I have to tell you everything,” she said.

  Judd swung away to rummage through a drawer. He knew enough, damn it. Enough to upset his calm, enough to upset his sense of balance, enough to make him want to dig Whitney up with his bare hands and kill him all over again.

  He found the bottle of antiseptic and grabbed a couple of gauze pads. His fingers fumbled on the screwtop of the bottle.

  “Let me do that,” Beth said.

  Before he could refuse, she grabbed it from him. “Sit down.” She pointed to the corner of the desk.

  “Give me your hand.”

  He stupidly held out his right one. The one that had made it through the kitten rescue and subsequent tangle without a scratch. Shaking her head at him, Beth took up his left one herself.

  Then she slapped a hydrogen-peroxide-soaked pad on the scratches across its top. He sucked in a breath, and his gaze jumped to her face.

  “There,” she said. “Now I have your attention.”

  He raised his eyebrows in casual inquiry.

  “I have to tell you,” she said again. “You need to know everything.”

  He winced. It hurt like hell to know what he already did. Any more and his emotions might explode into words. Actions. Mistakes. He might lose everything he’d come to the Sur to find—tranquility, peace.

  Real, authentic friendship.

  But with Beth’s hand clinging to his, he didn’t have much choice but to listen.

  “When he first came to the Sur,” she started, “Lainey and I were around twelve years old. You know how it is here, everybody knows everybody. We all assumed he was just passing through like most artists. By the time we were seniors in high school though, Stephen was still in the Sur and starting to get national attention.”

  She soaked another pad with peroxide and daubed at the smaller scratches on his wrist. He wanted to flinch, away from the sting, away from her words, but he held himse
lf still. I’m a rock.

  “Then my father died. We needed money. Cooper was in college and trying to keep the retreat going. When Stephen asked about renting one of the cottages on a long-term basis, we were glad. I was glad, because I had a big crush on him.”

  Judd could picture her at eighteen, long-legged and beautiful. Stephen would have noticed, he would have noticed both girls.

  “Not long after he moved to Tranquility, I…I imagined he was in love with me. I was certain he would ask me to marry him. But, of course, it was Lainey he married.”

  Judd closed his eyes, then forced himself to reach for pencil and paper. BOTH OF YOU?

  She knew what he meant by the brief question. “Yes, I think at first he did flirt with us both. And then I ran into him at the cove a few times, just like Lainey described. But he never called me by name there, so when they announced their engagement, I thought…I thought he must have mistaken me for her.”

  The lead of his pencil gouged the paper. YOU THOUGHT HIM INNOCENT?

  She abruptly turned away, then dropped the used gauze in the garbage can and recapped the bottle. “Until recently, until what Lainey said the other day about him never making that kind of error, I did think the times before their marriage weren’t his fault. If I blamed anyone, I blamed myself for not realizing the one he loved wasn’t me.”

  But the bastard had been two-timing both girls. The anger was gathering inside Judd again. Gallons of vitriol, rising fast. Stephen had been a grown man and Beth was a girl of eighteen when he’d played games with her heart.

  “After they married, I had no good excuse for having an affair with him.” Beth’s voice was hoarse. “No excuse except that I wanted to be his wife. I wanted to be the one he chose.”

  Judd found himself reaching out to her, but she flinched away.

  “I think I was a little crazy after their wedding. My father had died, my mother didn’t seem ready to live, my sister had married the man I loved. Everything I did, I did for me, with no thought of the consequences. When Lainey announced her pregnancy, though I hadn’t told anyone, including Stephen, I was already into my third month. I was so smug, because I would have his baby first.”

  Judd gripped the edge of the desk. What the hell had Whitney been doing? What had he been thinking?

  Beth looked up, her eyes dull. “The miscarriage was the antidote to that craziness. I woke up to what I might have done to my family, to my sister. I told Stephen about losing our baby and I also told him our…intimate relationship was ended. And ever since, I’ve been…”DOING PENANCE? Judd rose from the desk to shove the paper at her.

  She gave a helpless shrug. “It hasn’t worked. Because isn’t guilt supposed to lessen with atonement?”

  He could only shrug.

  “But I know I need to move on.” In a weary gesture, she swiped her hair off her face. “And I think maybe I can find my way past this if…”

  He saw her swallow hard, then she stepped up to stand directly in front of him. “Judd, you’re the most levelheaded and self-aware person I’ve ever met. The wisest. I really respect your spirituality. I respect you.”

  Out of nowhere, a sense of foreboding descended, its vibrations seeping deep into his bones. Judd instinctively backed up, only to slam into the solid metal desk.

  “It would give me some perspective on the whole thing, some sense of relief, if I thought you understood. If I thought…” Her voice went hoarse. “Judd. Please. Can you—can you forgive me?”

  Forgive her?

  Forgive her?

  The rage he felt toward Stephen flared, rising stronger than ever before. Judd tried to swallow it, tried to keep it inside just as he’d kept all his words inside for the last five years, but it only made the feeling build faster, stronger. Forgive her!

  Under another volcanic surge of pressure, the rock that was supposed to be Judd cracked. Emotion rolled out of him in waves of acid heat, melting everything in its path.

  His arms shot out and he wrapped them around Beth. He yanked her against him, holding her slender weight to his chest as if she were the cork that he needed to prevent the flow of his feelings.

  Her head jerked up and he saw shock in her eyes.

  God, it only made him madder.

  Years of silence hadn’t made him smarter, though, because he didn’t try to soothe her. He’d been the comfortable friend for years. The silent partner in their relationship.

  And he could no longer hold back communication.

  He bent his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

  God, God.

  The taste. Her taste. Elegant. Restrained.

  Bittersweet, because he wanted to taste her passion, her elemental self, and she was standing wooden and unyielding in his arms, her lips politely pressed to his as if he were another art patron and it was just another day at another Whitney show.

  He wasn’t even sure her heart was beating.

  He needed to make her feel. Feel for him.

  Angling his head, he attacked her mouth this time, willing her lips to soften. He shoved his hand beneath the silky little sweater she wore and cupped her breast.

  That’s when he felt her react.

  She gasped, and he moved in with his tongue. It was hot inside her mouth, and he explored, touching her smooth teeth and the ridged roof of her mouth. Finally, he flicked her tongue with his. They weren’t comforting strokes, but ones that teased, incited, demanded that she duel with him. Fight.

  A needy sound came from the back of her throat.

  A sound that set spark to dry brush. Judd flamed. He ran his mouth over her face, trying to take it all in, trying to taste every pore of her creamy flesh. His kisses slid down her neck and then he dropped to his knees at her feet.

  It was there that tenderness caught up with him. His breathing slowed, his movements slowed. Oh, Beth. There were so many things he wanted to tell her body with his. There were so many places he wanted to stroke, to kiss, to tongue.

  But first, first was here. His hands shaking, he pushed up her sweater to get to her pants. Despite the quiver in his fingers, he was able to work the button and slowly slide down the zipper. He wasn’t certain either of them was breathing as he pushed the edges away to bare her skin.

  There, three inches above her bikini panties and two inches below her navel, was her tan tien, the gathering place of her chi. He leaned toward her, toward the skin over her tan tien, toward the skin over the place where she’d also cradled a baby she’d loved and lost. Opening his hot, wet mouth, he buried his face against her, marking her with a last, fierce, deliberate kiss. Making her his.

  Then, gentling his lips, he worked them inch by inch over the smooth fragrant flesh of her abdomen, while his hands ran up and down the back of her legs. Her fingers speared his hair and he shuddered, even as he still caressed her, kissed her, healed her with every loving thought, with every soft touch. One hand encountered her warm, slender ankle. He caressed it too, until his fingertips brushed the cold, snaky surface of the platinum chain she wore.

  Stephen’s chain.

  Rage renewed, Judd curled his fingers under and tore it away.

  Beth gasped and stumbled back.

  He stared up at her. He’d never seen her rumpled, and here she was half-dressed, her hair messy, her face flushed. His possessive kiss had left a red blotch on her belly.

  “Why?” Her slender fingers touched there, then touched her mouth. “Why did you kiss me?”

  Judd rose. He should talk to her now. Let the feelings out. Say the words, take the chance, open his mouth, open his heart. But a five-year-old habit becomes an ingrained habit, and he hesitated.

  Only to discover that the words were frozen inside of him. And even as he was looking at her and thinking she was never more beautiful, he was incredibly relieved that his feelings were locked away. After all, the secret of his love was safe, he was safe—if he didn’t break his silence.

  “Tell me,” she said, her voice low but demanding, “tell m
e why you kissed me.”

  The levelheaded, self-aware, spiritual Judd could only lift his hand and let it fall. But he was wise enough to be unsurprised when at that she fumbled with her clothes, then rushed out of the room.

  He looked down at the anklet in his hand, the diamond-encrusted E dangling from one end.

  Five years before, he’d been a smooth, fast talker. He’d used that ability to make money and to make friends, but then one day he’d seen that he also used the talk to skate the surface of life and the surface of relationships—even his own marriage.

  He’d left the Silicon Valley with some foolish, romantic notion of finding an authentic life. Of listening instead of talking, of living instead of skating, of finding real truth instead of making one up to fill the yawning emptiness that no number of wealthy clients and hours on the job could ever seem to do.

  And he’d found something, all right. He’d found out that it had taken him five years to learn the simplest truth of all. Taoism, Buddhism, Native American spiritualism, none had really changed him. He wasn’t willing to risk, to delve deep, to be authentic.

  He’d turned quiet because talk had been so shallow. But hell, so was silence, if the person who’d stopped talking still refused to give another more than the surface of himself.

  He glanced back down at the dangling anklet in his hands. News flash, folks: Ripping away the chains didn’t make one free.

  Angel was on the path leading to the Tranquility dining room when she caught sight of Beth rushing toward her. Clothes wrinkled, hair flying around her head, the other woman appeared upset, if not downright panicked.

  “Beth!” she called out. “What’s the matter?”

  The other woman paused, and Angel saw her suck in a breath and straighten her spine in an obvious attempt to regain her usual composure. But then she gave up the struggle and, with a frantic shake of her head, brushed past.

  Angel forced herself to walk on. Whatever was wrong with Cooper’s sister was none of her business, right? But then she found herself spinning back to follow.