A Whisper Of Wanting

by Jamie Sobrato

  She bit her lip to keep from laughing. A glance around the living room revealed more of his everyday life. A few photos of smiling people that must have been friends or family members on the mantel, a worn-out Persian rug on the floor and a couple of mod brown leather sofas that had probably been around since the early eighties, were the first clues she noticed.

  A small TV—the boxy outdated kind—sat forlornly in one corner of the room, ignored by the sofas, which were grouped around the fireplace. Not that anyone really needed a fireplace in San Diego, but they were nice to have nonetheless, and Nicole was fascinated that Ethan was probably a guy who didn’t watch much TV.

  Having seen the various men in her mother’s life camp out in front of the TV for days on end as a kid, she’d never found it an attractive trait in a guy. In fact, it drove her insane.

  She took note of the magazines and books strewn across the coffee table, ranging from ragged copies of The Economist to a hardcover mystery to a huge book of contemporary art.

  So Ethan was not only a horn dog, but also a bit of an intellectual. Or at least a Euro intellectual. Maybe that was just more par-for-the-course in England. He was, after all, a journalist, which involved using his brain.

  Nicole had never thought to wonder why he’d ended up all the way across the world, in San Diego. She’d just accepted him as a foreign-accented pain in her ass, as expected as the changing of the tides and bird droppings on park benches.

  But now, standing in his living room, she did wonder. One of the photos on his mantel showed a glimpse of Big Ben behind the four smiling women in the photo. One of them was an older woman, maybe even Ethan’s mother, and the other three looked to be in their twenties or thirties. They all bore some resemblance to Ethan—brown hair, blue eyes, a way of smiling a little crooked. Sisters, maybe. He had three of them?

  Nicole had three sisters of her own. They were all in various states of divorce or separation from various loser guys. All three had kids they couldn’t handle, problems they couldn’t deal with, bills they couldn’t pay. It was the story of the Arroyo women for as far back as she could remember.

  Not exactly a proud history, but Nicole was determined, above all else, to be the first one to overcome it.

  So far, so good. With Friday night being a notable exception.

  She shook herself out of the daze she’d sunken into staring at the photo of the women, and a second later she heard the water shut off. Ethan had wrapped up his Patsy Cline impersonation. Too bad. She would have loved to catch him in the midst of it, but she hadn’t wanted to give him a heart attack by sneaking up while he was in the shower. Thanks to Hitchcock, people tended to freak out more than was warranted when surprised in showers.

  Nicole moved silently down the hallway, her hands in the combat-ready position just in case she upset Ethan so much he tried to throttle her. She almost wanted to laugh, but she was pissed off enough at his lack of street smarts leaving the door unlocked that she was able to get rid of the urge.

  She paused at the bathroom doorway, and took a deep breath. The door stood slightly ajar, and she could hear only a shuffling sound that she imagined was Ethan drying himself off. She had a flash of guilt that she was invading his privacy this way, but better her than some sick scumbag criminal with a gun in hand doing it.

  Then she heard water running again, this time in the sink, she guessed. Next came the buzz of a razor. In a flash of motion, Nicole pushed open the door and burst into the room.

  “Hands on top of your head,” she shouted.

  Ethan’s razor went sailing across the room and thunked against the wall as he spun around, his arms hovering somewhere between over his head and ready to defend himself.

  “What the—?”

  “You left your goddamn door unlocked. What the hell were you thinking?” she shouted.

  His expression, confused and bewildered, transformed into recognition and then exasperation. “What are you doing checking my house for unlocked doors? Couldn’t get enough of me and had to come back for more? You could have knocked—I’d have let you in.”

  And in that instant, he was back to his usual smirking self. Only his usual self was wearing nothing but a towel, and his hair was tousled and damp, and beads of water glistened on his shoulders, begging her to lick them off…

  Out of nowhere a new wave of arousal swept through Nicole, and it occurred to her that she was completely screwed. Here she was trying to teach Ethan a safety lesson, and all she could think of was ripping off his towel and licking him dry.

  Silence hung in the air between them for a moment too long, and she could tell by the certainty in his expression that he knew he had her number, even when she hadn’t realized what she was doing.

  Damn it.

  “You’re so full of shit,” she said, not sounding quite as convincing as she would have liked. “I came over here because of police business, and I couldn’t stand by and let you leave your doors unlocked when your life is at risk.”

  That now-familiar wave of tingling took a sweep through her lower abdomen, welling up in her panties and then swirling around there until she inhaled at the growing intensity of it.

  That stupid potion—she made a mental note to put a rush on the analysis of it.

  Or was she just that sex-starved?

  He was frowning at her now. “What police business?”

  “I need to talk to you about Pulatski.”

  He nodded. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “We have reason to believe he’s targeted us both, and I think I should kind of act as your bodyguard while we’re looking for him.”

  “A what?”

  “A bodyguard. You’re in danger, Ethan. You need protection.”

  “The only protection I need is made of lubricated rubber and comes in a little square packet. Really, Nicole—”

  “Don’t get all macho on me now. This isn’t the time for it. Jonas Pulatski is a loose cannon.”

  “And what did you mean about while we’re looking for him? We’re not going on a manhunt, are we? Because I have deadlines at work.”

  Just like a journalist to think of deadlines before all else, even when he’d just been told his life was in danger.

  “I meant we, as in the general collective police department. Not you.”

  “It sounds like you’re really the one who needs protecting.”

  “I’ve got department surveillance people watching out for me. But I also know how to take care of myself. You, on the other hand, are a person who leaves his patio door unlocked while taking a shower, leaves his car doors unlocked, leaves his windows unlocked—”

  “Okay, okay. I didn’t realize I’d have a crazed lunatic stalking me. I got a little lax, I’ll admit.”

  “It’s not just the unlocked stuff, Ethan. You need someone around who knows what signs to look for that you’re in danger.”

  “And that someone would be you?”

  “Yes,” she said. She probably should have suggested he hire a professional bodyguard, but she felt responsible for dragging him into this mess with Pulatski.

  And yeah, okay, she didn’t want to be alone. She hated to admit to herself that she was a little unnerved, but she was. She’d let the stress get to her too much.

  Ethan smiled a slow, half-cocked smile. “Oh really? You’d be staying here at my house, twenty-four hours a day?”

  Nicole hesitated. Could she really do this?

  “Yes, pretty much,” she finally said. “It would give me a place to stay besides my own apartment, and then the surveillance people would essentially be watching out for both of us. The only time you’d probably be in danger is when you’re at work or going to and from.”

  “I could probably work from home, if I knew you were here. Or maybe I’d be doing everything but working if you were here….”

  Nicole sighed. “This isn’t about us having sex, Ethan. It’s about staying alive.”

  “For the sexiest cop I’ve ever met, you sure know
how to be a wet blanket.”

  “For a crime reporter, you sure know how to be a dumb-ass,” she shot back.

  Ethan smiled again, as usual not even the least bit fazed by her hostility. That pissed her off even more than the way he turned her on—the fact that she couldn’t ruffle him as he was ruffling her.

  “You can be my bodyguard so long as you promise to guard me very, very closely.”

  She blinked, surprised he was giving in so easily. “Okay…”

  “But there will be ground rules,” he said oh so casually.

  “Of course, like—”

  “My ground rules. You sleep in my bed, you stick with me 24/7, and you continue our, ah, physical relationship.”

  Nicole laughed, not because she thought he was funny, but because he’d caught her utterly and completely off guard. “You expect me to sleep with you so I can protect you?”

  He nodded. “That pretty much covers it, yep.”

  “Go screw yourself.” She turned on her heels and headed toward the front door. “You can hire a rent-a-cop for all I care,” she called over her shoulder.

  But Ethan followed her, and dodged around her before she could get to the door. He put himself between her and it, and if she’d been a little bit madder she’d have kicked him in the balls to move him out of the way. But he was wearing that expression of his, somewhere between self-deprecating and apologetic, that had an uncanny ability to make her forget what she was pissed off about.

  “You’re really going to trust my safety to a rent-a-cop?”

  “Yep,” she said, but she wasn’t feeling much conviction at the moment.

  “I offered up those conditions for you, too, you know. The more we’re together, the more we can watch each other’s back.”

  “Not if we’re busy screwing all the time, we can’t.”

  “So you admit it. You do want to shag me all the time, don’t you?”

  “Hell no.” Again, not sounding very convincing. Damn it.

  But she could still feel that magnetic pull toward Ethan. She could remember the mind-blowing sex, the orgasms like she’d never had before, the sheer euphoria of their night together, and she had to admit, she wanted more of it.

  A whole lot more of it.

  Who wouldn’t? She was a healthy female with healthy female needs that didn’t get met nearly often enough. And so what if she decided to let her needs get met by a guy she heretofore could hardly stand to be around? He had his charms. Very obvious charms, really. Not the least of which was his stunning ability to please her in bed, and in the backseat of the car, and probably anywhere else, too.

  “Tell me that wasn’t the best sex of your life Friday night.”

  “It wasn’t the best sex of my life,” she lied. “It was nice, but…”

  His smile grew. “When you lie, you look over my shoulder. It’s so obvious. I figured a police detective would know how to tell tales better, after seeing so many criminals do it.”

  But Nicole was basically an honest person. She had never had any desire to learn how to deceive, and while she could recognize a lie from a scumbag she’d dragged in off the street in half a second, it didn’t translate to her own ability to be a liar or a cheat.

  “Okay,” she said, looking him dead in the eye. “The sex was great. You know it and I know it. Is that what you wanted me to say?”

  “No, I’m still waiting for the ‘it was the best sex of my life’ statement.”

  “You’re going to rot before you hear that one.”

  “So you can’t admit it, but it’s true. You were trembling as we made love. Your whole body trembling, and you were so wet you could have given us both a bath in—”

  “Classy, Ethan. Keep up that kind of sweet talk. It’s what every girl loves to hear,” she said sarcastically.

  “I’m just telling you what I observed. You were enjoying it in a huge way, Nicole.”

  She couldn’t argue with him there. It really had been the best sex of her life—sex better than she could have imagined possible—but no way was she going to admit that.

  Not to Ethan. Not in a million years.

  “As were you. Best sex of your life, yes? I’m sure we can both agree on that.”

  He laughed. “You’re relentless, Nicole Arroyo. That’s one of the things I love about you. You just won’t give in about being a hard-ass.”

  “I’m not a hard-ass.” But she was, and she knew it. She hated that about herself, hated that being determined and strong in her career had made her hard in every part of her life. But she didn’t know how to be any other way and stay focused.

  That was the problem with being an Arroyo woman: the temptation to screw up was strong, and she had to fight it at all costs, even at the cost of being a likeable person sometimes.

  “Okay, so can’t you just agree to really good sex as part of the deal then? You don’t have to admit it was the best of your life, but you can enjoy it for what it is, if we’re going to be around each other all the time anyway.”

  Nicole grasped her last shred of common sense and held on for dear life. “Forget it, Ethan. Sex is not part of the deal.”

  And with that, she sidestepped him and walked out the door.

  9

  OKAY, SO SHE’D called his bluff. What the hell. It had been worth a try.

  Except…

  If he had to choose between having Nicole around him 24/7 or not having her around, he’d take the first option, sex or no sex.

  Ethan had entertained himself with countless fantasies since the first time he’d ever gotten a full-on erection, a virtual porn library of fantasies. But he’d never imagined this one—shacked up with a sexy but cantankerous cop, who was supposed to be his bodyguard.

  And oh, did his body ever need guarding. He just had to convince Nicole that her job involved less of the boring security stuff—peering out windows and checking for signs of intruders—and more of the type he had in mind. For instance, his cock was feeling rather lonely, perhaps even in danger of neglect, if she didn’t occupy his bed tonight.

  He stood in the living room blinking at his own stupidity for a full minute before he realized the opportunity he’d just missed out on. He had a bad habit of letting his Type A control-freak personality rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments. And he feared he’d just done it again. Why the hell would Nicole have wanted to sleep with him when he was essentially demanding it?

  Of course she wouldn’t. That’s why he made a point of always—well, mostly—trying to come across as easygoing and laid-back. It made women take their panties off.

  He could have convinced Nicole to shag him over a few days’ time at most. Having her around in such close proximity surely would have resulted in sex, if he’d simply let the situation take its natural course.

  But no, he’d gone and turned into a typical guy about the whole thing, practically wanting a written contract that he’d get to screw her to his heart’s desire. Could he get any more stupid?

  And when a guy had just been told a murderer was likely stalking him, wouldn’t it make sense to inquire further about the matter instead of jumping straight to the sex? But he’d seen how mesmerized Nicole had been by him, and he’d felt his own arousal, and he’d skipped right over the murderer part. Now that he was alone, he felt like a fool for his errors.

  Outside, the sound of her car engine sprang him into action. He grasped the towel around his waist to keep it secure and took off outside at a full run. Nicole was backing out of the driveway, looking over her shoulder at the road behind her, so she didn’t see him until he’d reached the street and she was about to drive forward again.

  When she did spot him coming toward her wearing only his towel, she slammed on her brakes and glared at him. A second later, her driver’s side window slid down.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. If we’re both in danger, I’d much rather have you here than anywhere else. Forget the stupid conditi
ons I said before. I was being a jackass.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you’re thinking the sight of you in a towel is going to change my mind, you’re forgetting you’ve been wearing that thing since I got here.”

  “I wouldn’t presume any such thing. I was just thinking with the wrong head before. Really. I’d feel tons better if you’d stay here with me—for both of us. And I promise, no hanky-panky.”

  Well, for now. At least for the next four hours or so.

  He’d behave. He really would. He’d let her realize on her own that there was no way the two of them could be in the same house without serious sparks flying.

  “Please?” he said when she continued to glare silently.

  “One screw-up and you’ll be looking up rent-a-cops in the phone book, you understand?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll be the model of good behavior.”

  Good in bed behavior, that is.

  “I have to go run an errand, then go back to my place to get some stuff. You have a guest room?”

  “Sure, my extra bedroom has a fold-out couch. You can sleep there.”

  So long as she let him sleep there with her.

  A neighbor, Mrs. Gillespie, drove by in a beige minivan. She had her three kids in the car too, and they all stared at Ethan standing there with his wet hair, bare chest and white towel.

  Perfect.

  Now he’d be labeled the neighborhood weirdo, and no one would come to his house on Halloween for candy. No, they’d wait until after the trick-or-treaters were gone and then they’d toilet paper his house.

  He nodded and waved, as if the whole scene was perfectly normal. Towels were acceptable as far as the end of the driveway, right?

  But his waving hand happened to be the same hand he’d been using to hold his towel, and no sooner did he shake his hand at the Gillespies than a gust of wind caught the towel and tugged it loose. Suddenly the Gillespie girls were getting what may have been their first male anatomy lesson.

  Nicole burst out laughing. Ethan grabbed for his towel and caught it before it hit the ground, tugged it around his waist, and stood up as tall as he could while he secured it, trying his best to save the last shred of his dignity by appearing unperturbed, which he mostly was. He didn’t have anything to be ashamed of under the towel, after all. His dangly bits were more than adequate to suit most women’s needs. Or so he’d been told.