Jermy, Marie - Body Rocks [The Andersons 3] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Marie Jermy

  “An excellent choice, my dear,” said a woman’s voice, disturbing Samantha’s arousal and her wanting to do incredibly naughty things to Daniel in the changing room. Heavens, she was turning into a sex-crazed harlot!

  Not that Samantha thought Daniel would mind. She glanced his way. No, he definitely wouldn’t mind. His attention was now solely on her and the pink whisper of silk in her hand. She felt her nipples stab at the lace of her bra when he very slowly and very deliberately ran his tongue over his lips.

  “Would you like to try it on, my dear?”

  Samantha gave the middle-aged, coiffured woman a smile and a nod and was waved to the rear of the store and the two changing rooms. There was a pink-and-white striped upholstered chair between the two doors. Daniel made to sit down, but the woman stopped him with a shrill “Do not sit there!” Her nose took a snooty lift. Obviously nothing other than tux pants were going to grace the seat pad.

  Daniel crossed his arms over his chest and glared, but stayed on his feet. Samantha smothered a laugh and entered the changing room on her left. The same subtle flowery potpourri hung in the air, but the pattern on the wallpaper wasn’t pink-and-white stripes, but tiny sprigs of pink flowers.

  She pulled off her clothes and slipped the chemise over her head. It slid down over her skin like a breath of fresh air. Her erect nipples were clearly visible behind the silk. She nibbled her bottom lip, knowing there wasn’t a thing she could do about them.

  “Christ, I feel like Richard Gere,” she heard Daniel grumble. Then he mimicked, “Stores are never nice to people. They’re nice to money.”

  She smiled, recognizing the quote almost instantly. Pretty Woman was one of her favorite movies. She poked her head around the changing room door. Daniel was standing not more than five feet away. “You’ve seen Pretty Woman?”

  “Let’s just say me and Dad were curious when Mom and Jessica had a girls’ night in.”

  “And what did you think?”

  “Not a lot. I can’t understand why anybody would want to make a movie about a millionaire businessman picking up a hooker. It’s kind of pervy, don’t you think?”

  She could see Daniel’s point, but she still liked the movie. “Richard Gere didn’t exactly pick Julia Roberts up. He was lost and asked her for directions.”

  “Obviously he’d never heard of GPS.”

  “More likely GPS wasn’t around twenty-two years ago. Well, not in cars, anyway.” Daniel rolled his eyes at her, which then promptly popped like champagne corks when she stepped out of the changing room. “What do you think?” she asked, twirling around. Honestly, she felt like Julia Roberts’s character from the movie.

  The amber flecks in his blue eyes glowed and a smile of appreciation stretched his mouth. Daniel stepped over and stood in front of her, blocking her view of the assistant. His hand slowly traced a line from her shoulder, down over one breast and its beaded nipple, and then past her stomach and over the roundness of her hip.

  “Nice,” he murmured, low and husky. “Baby…”

  The air within the store was cool, but his touch was scorching. And his raspy “baby” endearment aroused her to a greater extent. She wanted his hands on her breasts and his mouth pressed to hers. She drew in a breath, and her eyelids fluttered closed. “Kiss me.”

  “My dear, it looks simply divine on you.”

  Samantha’s eyes snapped open, the woman’s approval sharply reminding her of where she was. Daniel just stood there, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Her cheeks flamed, and she wondered if there was any truth in dying from embarrassment. She coughed to clear her throat. “Um, how much is it?”

  The woman said a figure. Samantha felt her jaw go slack. She opened and closed her mouth, but no words emerged. It was Daniel who found words, and voiced his disgust.

  “How much!”

  “Is that a problem?” the woman assistant asked, her nose taking yet another snooty lift.

  “Yeah. Your prices stink! Christ, the price of this…” he said, grabbing a handful of silk from her thigh, his heated touch against her skin further coating the crotch of her panties with damp arousal, “…would provide one hundred tents for families who lost their homes in the earthquake that struck Manila. Did you know it’s not only the quake that kills, but its aftereffects? Disease and starvation. No sanitation or clean water. No shelter.”

  Samantha nibbled her bottom lip, Daniel’s sudden outburst tugging at her conscience. She’d been so excited about shopping on Rodeo Drive that she’d never given serious thought to the reasons behind Daniel’s complaining. He’d seen destruction and poverty close up, and splashing money out on frivolous items must have really sickened him. “Oh. Maybe I won’t buy it, then.”

  Daniel exhaled a loud, heavy breath and calmed down. “No, sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to sound off. You buy it.”

  “No.” She smiled and reentered the changing room.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were lucky to be seated at an outside table at the Newsroom Cafe on Robertson Boulevard. They ordered two orange-and-banana smoothies, an avocado, bacon, and chicken burger for him, and an Indonesian gado gado salad for her. Daniel’s frown was heavy as he scanned the menu again before laying it down on the table. “Too expensive?” Samantha asked.

  The frown melted into a grin. “No. This place is okay. If you want expensive, then we should have gone to the Ivy. Done a spot of celebrity watching.” He laughed. “About a year ago, Mom and Dad came to see me, and we went to the Ivy for lunch. Tom Cruise sat not more than three tables away, but all people wanted was my Dad’s autograph.”

  “Really? Because he’s well known for his charity work?”

  “Nah. People thought he was Robert Redford!”

  She laughed. “I hope that didn’t disappoint the celebrity autograph hunters.”

  “Quite the opposite, actually. Tom Cruise was not a happy bunny when he left.”

  Daniel’s body suddenly stiffened, and his gaze slowly slid up the street and then down, as though searching for somebody. His frown returned. “What’s the matter?” Samantha asked.

  His gaze centered on Samantha, and the frown vanished. He leaned back in his chair. “Nothing, baby. Wos your dream?” he said, in a perfect mimic of the down-and-out man from Pretty Woman.

  “You know my dream, Daniel.”

  “Yeah, I do, but tell me again. I like seeing you happy, and you shine when you talk about your dream.”

  “Have you thought of a name for the home yet?” she instead asked. “I’m still drawing a blank.”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. I must admit my mind’s been elsewhere.” Though he waggled his brows in suggestive humor, his eyes strayed once more to the street, sweeping up and down before finally settling on her again. “Hmm, let’s see. What do kids like? When I was a kid, Dad built me and Jessica a tree house. We loved it so much we even slept in it. You could do the same. Every kid, whatever their age, loves a tree house.” He thought for a moment, and then said, “What about the Tree House Children’s Trust?”

  “I’m not sure, Daniel. Some of the children will be disabled. In wheelchairs, maybe. Though I’m sure we could adapt a tree house to include an elevator or something, and it is a good idea, it just seems an unnecessary risk.”

  “Okay.” Daniel poured a glass of water for them both from the carafe on the table. “Um, what’s the land like?”

  “Just over two acres of meadow with a bank of pine trees.”

  He took a drink of water, thought for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. “The Pinebanks Children’s Trust.”

  “Yes, I like that.” Samantha’s lips curved into a happy smile. However, she got the feeling that Daniel’s relaxed frame was forced. Something was definitely troubling him, and she decided to ask what it was. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

  “Because you don’t look it. You’re stiff, Daniel.” She gestured to his less-than-relaxed body. “And don’t make the joke about which part of your
body is stiff.”

  Daniel laughed, and his body did then relax. “Just thinking about what happened in that lingerie store. I’m sorry. I must have sounded like a right jerk.”

  “No, you didn’t. You just expressed your opinion. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Their food arrived, and for a few minutes they were quiet while they ate.

  “How’s your salad?” Daniel asked.

  “Delicious. Your burger?”

  His mouth full of food, he nodded. Samantha wiped a napkin across her mouth, took a sip of her smoothie, and then asked, “Tell me about Manila, Daniel.”

  He swallowed. “Not much to tell. I was there with Darcy. We, along with some friends of ours, were taking a break when the quake struck. Six-pointer. Darcy and I stayed on to help with the SAR effort—”

  “SAR?”

  “Search and rescue.” He ate another mouthful of burger. “I helped pull ten kids from a school that had collapsed. All alive, yet very scared and shaken. No pun intended there.”

  “Then you’re a hero.”

  “Nah. The real heroes are the people of Manila. They grieve for their lost loved ones, and then they pick themselves up and rebuild their lives and their homes.” He reached for his smoothie and tilted the glass in her direction. “You’re a hero—or should I say heroine, too.”

  She blushed. “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. Sammy, my baby, you’re gonna stand up to that bastard Raven in court and give evidence about what he did to you. That takes a lot of guts. I want you to know, whatever happens, I’ll be there for you.”

  Samantha scooted the chair closer to Daniel. “Thank you. That means a lot.” He placed his glass down and, sliding his hands around her waist, brought her closer still. Eyes wide open, the amber flecks within glowing, his lips hovered for a split second before descending onto hers in a warm and passionate kiss that ignited her body and swelled the love in her heart.

  The temptation to tell Daniel she loved him was strong, but when they parted and continued with their meal, Samantha held back. She didn’t know why or how, but the image of Sam Carrick had become lodged in her brain. And he wouldn’t budge.

  * * * *

  Hiding behind a menu was both dumb and clichéd for covert ops, but it was all Sam Carrick had to mask his face when Daniel and Samantha decided to sit at the table directly opposite him. Though he was inside the café and they were outside, the window between them was hardly an effective screen. There might as well have been a big flashing neon arrow above him pointing downward.

  Carrick lowered the menu an inch. His expression filled with admiration when Daniel suddenly looked left and right, up and down the street. Damn, Daniel was good. Carrick would bet that his half brother knew he was being watched. His lips fashioned into a wry smile. What he’d bet Daniel didn’t know was that he had taken up residence in the house opposite his.

  The property had come up just at the right time. “Sadly it’s not earthquake-proof, unlike the houses on the other side of the street,” the letting agent had sighed before Carrick signed the lease. Not that he gave a rat’s ass about that—nothing was completely earthquake-proof in Los Angeles. The only importance was that the house made the perfect base. It was so perfect he considered settling there and making it his home. It even came furnished.

  His gaze slid to Samantha, and a warm ripple of nostalgia washed over him. As with her twin sister, Ramona, Samantha was so much like her mother, it was surreal. Not that he’d ever known Jess to wear her hair tied up in a…What was that style? Chignon? Topknot? French twist? Oh, what fucking difference did it make, the hair was up. He’d never known Jess to wear a skirt either—she’d always favored jeans and combat pants. But that was thirty years ago, and people changed.

  “Are you ready to order, sir?”

  Carrick spared a glance at the attractive waitress by his side, her subtle pink-coated lips wrapped seductively around the tip of a pencil. At any other time, he would have made his interest known, but the only woman he wanted was the one he couldn’t have.

  He sighed. “How’s about thirty years of my life back.” Then, throwing a handful of bills on the table, despite not having ordered anything, Carrick put the menu down and walked from the café using the back exit.

  Chapter 11

  The venetian blind down but with the slats open, Carrick stood at his bedroom window, watching the street outside. Or more specifically, the house opposite. It had just gone half past eleven in the morning, and the curtains had not yet been drawn. Daniel and Samantha certainly liked their lie-ins. That would give Daniel’s neighbor something to gossip about, he drily deduced. The attractive woman in her mid- to late-thirties that he’d named Miss Parker had curtain twitching down to a fine art. He smiled, picked up the mug from off the windowsill, and took a long draft of freshly brewed black java.

  The coffee choked him. At the vital moment of swallowing, the curtains in his brother’s bedroom were thrown back, and Samantha stood in full view wearing nothing but a slip of pink. She was only there for five seconds, but it was enough. His cock stirred in his pants. Whoa, no fucking way, Carrick! He was not getting a hard-on over his brother’s girlfriend. He’d obviously gone without a hard fuck for too long. The thought of hard fucking instantly brought Miss Parker to his mind.

  A noise then sounded behind him, and a chilly air blew down his back.

  Carrick knew of only one man who, one, had a cold aura, and two, was dumb enough to creep up on him while he wore his holster. Only the man behind him wasn’t dumb. Indeed, he was far from it. Upon moving into the house, he’d set up a series of alarms and sensors both inside and out, and the man hadn’t tripped one of them.

  He nonchalantly placed the mug down, acting as though nothing was amiss. Then, quicker than lightning, he spun around, drawing his Federation issue Beretta in the same fluid motion. The barrel pressed exactly between the man’s unusual blacker-than-night eyes.

  Scott Rafferty didn’t even blink. Nor did he sweat in his charcoal-gray suit, despite the temperature outside pushing ninety-five. Rafferty stood like a statue, the heavy frown the only clue as to his mood. Pissed was a vast understatement.

  Carrick didn’t have a telepathic ability, but Rafferty did. He seldom used it, though, because he didn’t like poking around in people’s heads. “Thoughts are private and to intrude on them would be rude,” Rafferty had always said. Carrick admired that his friend respected people’s privacy. However, on this occasion, and because he wanted to see Rafferty’s reaction, he decided to give it a whirl.

  He smirked. “It’s good to see you, Scott. How’s the lovely Laura?” he silently asked, making things all fluffy and light.

  “It’s good to see you, too. And yes, Laura’s fine. Thank you for asking,” was Rafferty’s amicable reply, followed by the terse, “Now get that fucking gun out of my face!”

  A laugh rolled up his throat, and Carrick holstered his Beretta. “What are you doing here?” he asked, despite knowing the answer. Rafferty was again going to try and talk him out of his plan to rise from the dead. Well, there was no harm in trying. It didn’t mean he’d be successful, though.

  “I might be successful,” Rafferty mumbled, making Carrick laugh. He moved to stand beside him. He lifted one of the blind’s slats and stared out of the window. “I presume the house directly opposite is Daniel Ferris’s?”

  “You presume right.”

  “Is he there?”

  “Yep. With Samantha Anderson. His girlfriend.” Rafferty’s only response was the slight lift of his left brow. Carrick barked out a short laugh. “Jeez, they remind me of myself and Foxy thirty years ago. The likeness is freakin’ incredible.”

  Rafferty must have heard the longing within the tone because he then faced him. “She’s Mrs. Jess Anderson, and has been for the past twenty-nine years.”

  “She’ll always be Foxy to me,” Carrick retorted sharply. Abruptly, he felt a wave of guilt. He hadn’t meant to sound ha
rsh to his friend. “I’m sorry, Scott.” He picked up his half-empty mug. “You want a coffee? I have milk and sugar. I know you don’t like coffee strong enough to stand your spoon up in.”

  “Sure.” Rafferty turned back to the window for a moment. He lifted the same blind slat. “Curtain twitcher at one o’clock.”

  “That would be the lovely Miss Parker,” Carrick informed him with a smile.

  “As in nosy?”

  “Yeah. If I can forget about that long nose of hers that she pokes everywhere, I’m gonna poke her with my prick.”

  Rafferty shook his head. “A walking hormone. Is sex all you can think of?”

  “You’re one to talk. Laura may be a ghost, but that hasn’t stopped you from fucking her. I bet Charlie’s pissed,” Carrick added, referring to a man that he knew his friend despised. Senator Charles Williamson had been Laura’s soon-to-be ex-husband, but he’d put a bullet in her head to prevent her from making a new life with Rafferty. Williamson was a pompous prick and a sore loser to boot. Rafferty was worth a million of him and would have made Laura very happy. He should have been the husband she truly deserved.

  Then again, Carrick would bet that Rafferty would still make Laura his wife. He just didn’t know what the Federation’s policy was on mortals marrying ghosts. He’d have to look that up in the handbook later. It would have to be a Federation member conducting the ceremony—he was certain they had priests as members—otherwise it would look mighty odd with Rafferty seemingly standing at the altar without a bride and saying “I do” to himself.

  “Good. But I’m not fucking Laura to piss Williamson off. I’m fucking her because I love her. And she loves me.”

  Carrick grinned and followed Rafferty to the kitchen, situated at the rear of the house. The java in the percolator was still hot, so he didn’t bother making more. Taking a mug from an overhead cupboard, he half-filled it with coffee, the other half milk, added a heaped teaspoon of sugar, and slid it across the counter to Rafferty. “Have you seen my sister lately?” he asked breezily and really wanting to know.