Crash Into Me

by Jill Sorenson

“Where are you going?”

  “To get your breakfast, princess.”

  Smiling, she stripped off her towel and dropped it over the edge of the bed, leaving it lying on the floor. “It’s too clean around here,” she said, stretching out on her stomach.

  His eyes darkened. “Not always.”

  On the balcony, Summer polished off the waffles and fresh fruit all on her own. She was wearing his fluffy white bathrobe, the one he never used, and lounging in a cushioned deck chair, the breakfast tray he’d brought her balanced on her lap.

  A smile played on his lips. She looked like a pampered hotel guest, and he was happy to be of service. Carly and James had gone to an early matinee, so he was quite literally at her disposal, ready to cater to her every whim.

  Ben stared out at the ocean, inordinately pleased with himself. It was another one of those perfect winter days, vivid and bright. At high tide, the sun was hot overhead, surf crashed against the rocks below, and sea gulls bantered noisily, searching for tasty snacks in the crevices after each receding wave.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, looking down at her empty plate.

  “Not for food,” he returned, watching her lick a drop of syrup from her fingers. Even with her newly black, poorly dyed hair, she was stunning, and the sun loved her. It made her blue eyes brilliant and warmed her honeyed skin.

  “You have a one-track mind,” she commented.

  He murmured a vague agreement, his eyes traveling down her body. “Open your robe.”

  “Out here?”

  He glanced around. “No one’s watching.”

  Smiling, she set her plate aside and rose to her feet. Leaning against the balcony’s decorative handrail, she looked out at the Pacific, the wind fluttering the edge of her robe, teasing her short hair.

  Ben measured the rise of the handrail with his eyes. It was sturdier than an ordinary metal handrail, with a cap wide enough to sit on, and slats below.

  He went to her. “You aren’t afraid of heights?” he asked, his mouth near her ear.

  She turned, slipping her arms around his neck and letting him boost her up on the edge of the rail. “No.”

  His house was at the summit of the cliff, sitting taller than the rest, and the view from this vantage point was incredible. He exhaled a deep breath, unbelievably happy to be here with her. It was almost like…

  Surfing.

  He stilled, feeling a wave of panic rush over him.

  “Are you afraid of heights?” she teased.

  “No,” he said, but his voice sounded strange, far away. He couldn’t compare a woman to surfing. He loved surfing.

  Then she pressed her lips to his, and he forgot about surfing. He forgot about everything but her hot mouth and gorgeous body, splayed before him, ripe for the taking.

  He kissed his way down her silken throat to the valley between her breasts, aware of the cool breeze in his hair and the sweet salt smell of the ocean mingled with the scent of her body. He kneeled and dipped his tongue inside her navel while she moaned, threading her fingers through his hair.

  Then he went lower, sliding his palms up her thighs. “You’re not going to fall, are you?”

  It was a joke, but she made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. And clutched at his T-shirt, as if losing her balance.

  He stood, securing his hands around her waist. It took several seconds for him to catch his breath. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “Like what?” Her voice was shaky.

  “I thought you were going to fall.” He studied the drop to the rocks below, his gut clenching with apprehension. It was a very long way down. “This is kind of dangerous, now that I think about it.”

  “How did your wife die?”

  The question made him feel like he was about to tumble over the edge. “I’m trying to go down on you three stories up, and you want to talk about my wife?”

  “Maybe this is the perfect time to talk about it,” she countered.

  “Oh, yeah. Perfect.” He swallowed dryly, looking out at the dark blue Pacific. The waves weren’t epic, but they were good enough for practicing some tricky technical maneuvers. If only he could make with a quick cutback right now, to get out of this situation.

  “She was murdered by a drifter,” he said evenly. “Strangled to death.”

  “Oh, Ben,” she whispered, pressing her face to his shoulder.

  “I found her,” he blurted, unable to help himself. He’d never been able to describe the scene to another person, not even the detective who’d taken his statement. Maybe if he could get the words out now, he could honor Olivia’s memory without being paralyzed by guilt. “She’d been drawing water for a bath, and it was the sound that first alerted me.”

  She tilted her head back to look at him, and he knew his face was bleak.

  “I heard the water running, so I went to look. The tub was overflowing, soaking the carpet, and she was…there.”

  Summer covered her mouth with one hand.

  “I pulled her out,” he muttered, still hating himself. “I didn’t realize…I was so stupid. I didn’t even see the marks on her neck.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “Later, they said she’d been alive when he left her. She had water in her lungs. He hadn’t finished the job.” A tide of emotion welled up, but he shook his head, refusing to let it overwhelm him. “I don’t know how long I held her before I started CPR. By the time the ambulance arrived, I was out of my mind. The EMTs had to physically restrain me. I broke two of her ribs.”

  “Ben,” she said kindly, “accidental injury isn’t unusual when performing CPR.”

  He knew that, but it didn’t matter. He would never forgive himself. “If I’d been home, I could have protected her. But I wasn’t home. I was out surfing.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “The story of my fucking life.”

  She regarded him with sympathetic eyes, but didn’t offer any platitudes.

  “If I’d treated her right while she was alive, maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad. But I didn’t. I was a shit husband. And a shit father. Jesus, I didn’t even marry her until Carly was in elementary school. I was never there when she needed me.” He knew he was getting maudlin, but he couldn’t stop. The words were like a poison inside him, and he couldn’t keep them there any longer. “At least when I was drunk, I had an excuse. But giving up drugs and alcohol didn’t make me a superhero. I was still a selfish, irresponsible ass.”

  He didn’t expect her to argue with him, and she didn’t. Maybe that was part of his attraction to her. Like Olivia, she didn’t cut him any slack.

  “Why didn’t you marry her?” she asked. “Until later, I mean.”

  “I wanted to,” he admitted. “I asked her before Carly was born, and every year after until she said yes.”

  “What made her give in?”

  “I got sober. She wouldn’t have me until I’d been a year sober, and celibate.”

  “Celibate, too?” Her tone was light. “This woman was a paragon.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “It’s one of the recommendations of AA anyway. And I’d already fucked everything that moved, so it wasn’t much of a sacrifice. Besides, she was the only one I wanted.”

  Easing herself off the edge, she slipped out of his arms. “I should go.”

  “Hey,” he said softly, reaching out to grab her wrist. She turned her head, trying to hide her tears, but he saw them. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.” Then comprehension dawned. It wasn’t the story about how his wife died that made her cry, it was his description of how much he’d loved Olivia. Still loved her.

  What woman wanted to hear that the man she was about to go to bed with was in love with someone else?

  “Fuck,” he said, wanting to kick himself. “I didn’t mean to make her sound perfect. She wasn’t. She cursed at me in Spanish all the time, and laughed because I couldn’t understand her. She was vain about her looks and that bugged the hell out of me.” He searched for something worse, something convincingly bad. “And she
cheated on me.”

  Wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of his robe, she said, “She didn’t.”

  He smiled, knowing he had her. “Yes she did.”

  “With who?”

  He shrugged, with some difficulty. “It didn’t really matter, because it was a one-time deal, and it was my fault anyway. I left on a three-month tour the week after our honeymoon. Laird Hamilton backed out at the last minute, and when they asked me to go, I said yes without even thinking about her, much less asking her opinion. The next day I was in Tahiti, getting pounded by thirty-foot waves with a six-foot drop to the reef.”

  “You are an idiot.”

  He laughed harshly, agreeing with her.

  “Did you cheat on her, too?”

  “No,” he said, sobering. Not liking the question, or the context under which she’d asked it before. “And I didn’t go on any more surprise tours.”

  Sonny stared back at Ben, finding him devastatingly handsome and painfully sincere. Every time he opened up to her she fell in love with him a little bit more. It was so ironic that his devotion to his wife, the very reason he would never be able to commit to another woman, was what made him irresistible to her.

  In her mind, she was stepping over the threshold of balcony doors, walking past the stark, soulless interior of his bedroom, and right out of his life. In reality, and a repetition of their short, tumultuous history together, he wouldn’t let her go. And she allowed him to detain her, because she wanted to stay.

  “I’m not going to lie to you,” he said. “I loved her. She was the mother of my child, and I really loved her. Being with her was as comfortable as breathing. She drove me crazy sometimes, but it was never like this.” He put her hand against the middle of his chest. “There’s nothing comfortable about you.”

  He was a little off the mark, as far as compliments went, but his heart was pounding and his eyes were hungry.

  Maybe he didn’t love her, but he wanted her.

  He must have understood that she needed more convincing. “I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you,” he said, covering her mouth with his and proceeding to convince her with some very tantalizing movements of his tongue. He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “If you don’t let me fuck you again, I’ll die.”

  She laughed at his overstatement, but he took himself very seriously, and went about seducing her as if his life depended on it. He sank to a cushioned lounge chair, pulled her onto his lap, and had her all but purring in minutes.

  He touched her and she shuddered. She unbuttoned his pants and touched him, too, stroking lightly until he took her hand away.

  “Come here,” he said, leaning back in the reclining chair. Sliding his body under hers, he urged her forward until she was straddling his chest, her belly level with his mouth. Her robe gaped open, baring her from the waist down.

  She cast a worried glance for watchful neighbors, who would surely be able to guess what they were doing. Seeing none, she felt totally exposed, nonetheless.

  And unbearably excited.

  Bending his head to her, he traced the rim of her belly button with his tongue. When she sucked in a breath, he glanced up at her, the corner of his mouth quirking into a slight smile. Reaching underneath her robe, he cupped her bottom and brought her up to him.

  She twisted her fingers through his hair, gasping as he slipped his tongue inside her.

  With a helpless moan, she surrendered, moving her hips, pressing herself to his mouth. When his tongue found her clitoris, the whole world fell away. She came in a shuddering rush, collapsing against him, brilliant orange sunbursts and white-hot flashes dancing behind her eyes. She could literally hear the crescendo ringing in her ears.

  Or maybe it was just waves, crashing on the rocks below.

  She drifted back to earth, chest heaving, and realized she’d just screamed down the rooftops in broad daylight. She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

  “Sorry,” she said, climbing off him.

  “For what?”

  She stared at his face. Her scent was probably all over him. “For mounting your head. Smothering you. Going crazy.”

  He laughed. “You think I didn’t like it? My mission in life is to make you go crazy.” He shifted uncomfortably. “You can mount any part of me, anytime.”

  She looked down. He was painfully erect, oozing with arousal. She bent her head to lick the pearly drop from the tip. When she took him fully into her mouth, he moaned, and a moment later, she had him quaking with pleasure. “Baby…”

  Making a soothing sound, low in her throat, she stayed right where she was.

  “No,” he said. “I want to be inside you.”

  “Do you have a condom?” she asked, because he was breathing hard, struggling with himself.

  “In my pocket,” he ground out.

  She pulled his jeans down his legs and searched the pockets, doing the honors once again. Letting the robe fall off her shoulders, she climbed astride, easing herself down on him. As soon as he was buried to the hilt, she leaned forward and kissed him very softly on the lips. “I like you here,” she said, tracing the crescent-shaped scar above his hard, beautiful mouth. She could feel his stomach quivering, and every inch of him, thick and pulsing within.

  “Don’t move,” he warned.

  “Okay,” she breathed, clenching her inner muscles.

  Groaning, he took her hips in his hands and rode her on him, hard and fast, up and down, back and forth, his movements wild, uninhibited, uncontrolled.

  Panting, she pushed him back against the cushions, bracing her palms on his chest and reestablishing control. Matching the pace he set, she rode him desperately, raking her nails down his torso and squeezing his pectoral muscles, slipping her fingers into his mouth for him to suck.

  When he licked the pad of his own thumb and placed it against her clitoris, she was so wet and sensitive that one touch sent her skyrocketing.

  Gripping her hips tightly, he came, too, a hoarse cry wrenching from his throat in the moment of release.

  For a long time, she lay sprawled across his chest, replete.

  “I love you,” she murmured against his neck. His body tensed under hers as those words penetrated the sensual fog surrounding them. She lifted her head, wide-eyed and suddenly alert. “I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly.

  He brought her head down to his chest. “I know,” he said, stroking her back. His words were almost swallowed by the sound of the surf pounding on the shore below, and the heavy thudding of his heartbeat, a frantic rhythm that matched her own.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Somebody’s here,” she said, placing a hand on his hip.

  “Just Carly and James,” he murmured against the back of her neck, smoothing his palm over her stomach.

  “No,” she whispered, sidling away from him. “Two men. Coming upstairs.” She cocked her head, listening. “Do you have a gun?”

  He looked at her like she was crazy. “What?”

  “Go in the bathroom,” she ordered, jumping up from the bed. Not waiting to see if he complied, she searched the room for a ready weapon. Knowing she had only seconds to spare, she jerked one of the upper drawers from his dresser, shook its contents onto the floor, and stood beside the door, stark naked, ready to brain someone with it.

  Ben gaped at her incredulously.

  “Get out of the line of fire,” she whispered, motioning him with her free hand. “You don’t have a gun, but these guys do. I can tell by the way they’re moving.”

  Instead of leaving her to her own devices, he planted his back against the wall beside her, and when Special Agent Colby Mitchell kicked in the door, Ben jumped.

  Sonny didn’t.

  She swung the mahogany drawer up, hitting Mitchell under the forearms and causing him to discharge his weapon into the ceiling. A cloud of plaster rained down on them. Although she’d banked her strength as soon as she recognized him, the impact must have been excruciating, for Mitchell fell to his knees.
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  She was on his back, with control of his gun, in the blink of an eye.

  “Drop it,” a voice said from behind her.

  A bead of cold sweat ran down her spine. She trained the weapon on the back of Mitchell’s head and cast a glance over her shoulder.

  Grant was pointing his service revolver at Ben.

  Underneath her, Mitchell began to shift. She never should have looked back. In that moment of distraction, he gained the upper hand. He rolled over her, crushing her underneath him, knocking the air from her lungs and smashing the back of her head against the hardwood floor. Disconcerted, she tried to put the gun between them, but Mitchell plucked it from her hands like he was taking candy from a baby.

  Damn. He’d been practicing.

  She was down, but not out, so she managed to get enough leverage to aim a hard right at his left eye. He moved at the last second, and her fist glanced off his cheek, opening up the skin. Facial wounds were gushers, and she was pleased to have drawn first blood, although a blow to the eye socket would have been more effective.

  In retaliation, Mitchell backhanded her across the face so hard she saw dark flashes.

  “Are you done?” he asked.

  She bared her teeth. “Get off me, you ape.”

  At the open doorway, Grant lowered his weapon. “Are you Benjamin Lyndon Fortune?”

  Ben placed a hand over his heart, as if to make sure it was still beating. “Yeah. Who the fuck are you?”

  “I’m Special Agent in Charge Leland Grant and this is Special Agent Colby Mitchell. We need to take you in for questioning.”

  Sonny’s eyes flicked over Grant. The sound of her voice last night must have tipped him off to her wanton behavior, but she’d never have guessed he would fly in on the next plane, or try to take Ben into custody by force.

  “Call off your dog, Grant,” she said wearily.

  “Let her up,” he said, gesturing to Ben. “Get him instead.”

  As Mitchell released her, Ben’s eyes narrowed. “You know these guys?”

  Her stomach churning with dread, she stared down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. “Just do what they say, Ben.”