Judging by the horrified expression on his face as he realized what they’d done, he would rather adopt a family of rabid dogs than tie himself down to her.
When they arrived at his house, she got out of the truck quickly, depressed about having to spend more time in his stilted company. As she stood, gravity worked its magic, and she felt an embarrassing wetness soak through her panties.
“Oh,” she breathed, touching her fingertips to the crotch of her shorts.
He glanced at her sharply, his features taut with tension. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said, taking her hand away. Face flaming, she walked gingerly, hoping the moisture wouldn’t spread until she was safely upstairs.
Alma Cruz would think she was such a slut.
Thankfully his mother had already gone to bed. Planning on doing the same, Sidney trudged up to his room and grabbed her tote bag.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Downstairs. To the couch.”
“You can sleep here.”
“Marc-”
“Goddamn it, Sidney, you can have the bed. Don’t make me feel more like a bastard than I already do.”
She stared at the ground, wishing he would leave her alone so she could wash and change clothes.
“Do you want to take a bath or something?”
“It’s too late, you know. The damage is done.”
He had the grace to look chagrined. More than that, he seemed stricken. “I just wanted to make sure you were-forget it,” he broke off in frustration. “Do you need anything?”
“Yes. Some privacy.”
“Fine,” he grated, leaving the room without another word.
When she got out of the shower, she found a fluffy white bathrobe on the bed, a cup of chamomile tea on the dresser, a cold pack and some over-the-counter pain relievers. What the hell? Her mother had coddled her less after she’d had her first period.
She put on the robe and drank the tea, ignoring the pills. Placing the cold pack against her hot forehead, she stretched out on top of the comforter, and just like that, she fell asleep.
When Sidney awoke it was late morning, judging by the sunshine streaming into the room and warming the bed. Sometime during the night, she’d gotten overheated and shed the robe.
Now she was covered by a thin white sheet.
Partially covered, anyway. She had it cuddled up to her front, leaving her naked back completely exposed. The bedroom door was wide-open, so anyone walking by could see her.
At the breakfast table on the opposite side of the room, Marc had a particularly unrestricted view.
With a tiny gasp, she sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest and pushing her short, tousled hair off her forehead. “How long have you been there?”
He transferred a mug and a glass of orange juice from a tray to the table. “A minute.”
“Did you cover me up?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes with a moan. “Your mother probably thinks I’m an exhibitionist.”
At that, he smiled. “She left before I checked in on you.”
Warm, wonderful smells were wafting across the room. Securing the sheet above her breasts, she climbed off the bed, lured by hunger. “What’s that?”
“French toast.”
“Mmm. You made it?”
“Yes.”
Touched by his thoughtfulness, she settled herself into a chair and started to dig in. “Aren’t you having any?”
“I already ate.”
As a mouthful of crisp, sugary French toast literally melted on her tongue, she closed her eyes in pleasure. When she opened them again, he was staring at her. “What?” she asked.
“I like watching you eat,” he murmured, his eyes on her mouth.
“And sleep?”
“Hmm?”
“You were watching me sleep?”
His dark gaze traveled over her. “Yes,” he said in a gruff voice, perhaps ashamed that he’d ogled her nude body during a moment of vulnerability. Again.
Her breasts tingled at the thought of his eyes there, and her nipples tightened, thrusting against the thin cotton sheet. She crossed her arms over her chest, plumping out her breasts, a movement that had the dual effect of easing her discomfort and increasing his.
“I have to take a shower,” he rasped, his eyes glazed. His arousal was apparent when he stood, but he made no move to touch her.
Obviously he’d rather go without than have her again.
Tears stung at her eyes, and she lost her appetite, but she forced herself to eat every bite, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her feelings. After a few minutes, he came out of the bathroom, a dark god with a white towel wrapped around his waist.
Did he have to rub it in?
“I’m going to change,” he warned.
“Go ahead,” she challenged, sipping from her mug like she couldn’t care less. Then he dropped his towel, and she almost sputtered coffee all over the table.
Sidney thought she’d seen it all, but he hadn’t really undressed last night. She knew he had an awesome upper body. She knew the way he filled out his jeans could make a grown woman weep. What she hadn’t directly laid eyes on, she’d felt against her and inside her.
Even so, the entirety of his naked form was even more impressive than those extraordinary individual parts. He was muscular, but lean, and…very well proportioned. Judging by the lack of steam in the small bathroom, he’d taken a cold shower.
It hadn’t worked.
As he pulled a pair of snug boxer briefs up his hips, along with his jeans, she felt heat pool to her lower body.
Annoyed with her reaction to him, she walked across the room, stripping off the sheet she was wearing and throwing it on the bed. Intent on giving him a glimpse of what he was missing, she bent over to take a fresh pair of panties out of her tote.
He inhaled sharply.
Her satisfied smile turned into a slight grimace as she put on her underwear, feeling a tug in muscles she hadn’t used in a while. She dressed in clean shorts and a tank top while he examined her with a keen interest that suddenly didn’t seem at all sexual.
“Last night,” he began slowly, “did I hurt you?”
She studied the tense lines of his face. “I’ll get over it,” she replied, mad at him for asking. He knew she was smarting from his rejection, and acting like he pitied her just added salt to the wound. “Can I drive myself to work today?”
“I’ll take you.”
“I’m going home after.”
“I’ll take you there, too.”
She searched for another way to ditch him. “I was going to spend the day at the beach.”
“Fine,” he said with a tight little shrug.
Clenching her hands into fists, she picked up her tote and stormed out of the room, thinking he was really the most infuriating man.
Chapter 14
Marc let Sidney drive herself to work, although he followed her. On Sunday she only had about an hour’s worth of duties and she dragged her feet the whole time. He noticed, but didn’t act impatient, and his casual acceptance grated on her frayed nerves.
When there was nothing more to do, or even pretend to do, they traveled to her house in separate cars. After parking, they walked in silence to her front door, with Sidney entertaining the hope that he would leave after making sure her house was secure.
As she touched the doorknob, an image burst into her mind, so disturbing that the keys slipped through her frozen fingers. “Samantha,” she gasped, feeling a searing pain ripple through her midsection.
Marc swept up the keys and unlocked the door himself. “Get out of sight,” he said, taking his gun out of his shoulder holster and pointing it toward the ground. He slipped inside, moving like a swift shadow.
She followed, too worried about Samantha to heed his warning.
Her sister was on the floor in the living room, a fragile heap of tangled blond hair and limp, bloo
died limbs. Marc crouched beside her and put his fingertips to her throat. “She’s unconscious,” he said, glancing up at Sidney. “Don’t touch her.”
He took out his cell phone to call an ambulance as he checked the rest of the house.
Again, she disregarded his instructions and sank to her knees at Samantha’s side, smoothing her wild hair away from her forehead. If not for the bloody scratches on her arms and legs, she might have appeared peaceful. Her chest expanded with even breathing, and her beautiful, makeup-smeared face looked vulnerable and surprisingly sweet.
Sidney could smell alcohol and the stale hint of sweat, a strange odor for her meticulous sister. An uncouth man must have perspired on her. She was dressed in a skimpy black sheath, torn in a slit up to her hip, exposing most of her naked lower body. There was more blood on her thighs, and a thin line of red trickled from her nose to her upper lip.
“Bring a rape kit,” Marc murmured into the phone before he closed it.
Sidney arranged Samantha’s skirt more modestly over her legs. “He attacked her here,” she said, her voice shaking. “I should have been home. I should have protected her.”
He knelt down beside her. “Your kitchen window is broken. I think she cut herself on the way in.”
She stared at him without comprehension. “She wasn’t attacked?”
He studied her face, not answering.
Sidney grabbed her sister’s hands, wishing desperately, for the first time in her life, that she could get a read. There was nothing. No image, no impression and no response.
“If she was assaulted, she may have evidence under her fingernails.”
Sidney dropped her hands, sobbing with frustration.
“Who has she been with?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Does Greg get rough with her?”
“No. Never.”
“Have they been sleeping together?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Who has she been with?” he repeated.
“Greg’s business partner,” Sidney whispered, blinking back her tears. “His appeal is more about sticking it to Greg than anything else. I can’t imagine him hitting her.”
Another idea occurred to her. “Did you tell her about the cat?”
He shook his head in one short, choppy motion. “I mentioned the break-in. She was more interested in coming on to me than your well-being. And in the morning, she was gone.”
A flash of anger surged through her. How could he speak badly of Samantha while she was tangled in a broken little heap upon the floor? “Maybe you were distracted, too, Lieutenant. She showed you her panties, and you forgot to mention that an animal had been murdered in my bed just hours before!”
He dragged a hand over his jaw.
“You won’t let me go to the bathroom by myself, but Samantha was on her own.” She glared up at him. “Wasn’t she worth protecting?”
His tone became dangerously low. “Don’t ever-ever-question my commitment to a victim. I don’t care if she’s a crack whore or the mayor’s wife, I always give one hundred percent. Always.”
“Is that what you were doing with me last night?” she asked softly. “Giving one hundred percent?”
His eyes darkened, but he didn’t reply. Instead he turned from her, holstering his weapon, and they both waited in silence for the ambulance to arrive.
Paramedics couldn’t rouse Samantha on the floor of Sidney’s house or in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.
Whatever she’d taken, it had been some strong stuff.
Marc stayed behind to brief Lacy on scene while Sidney accompanied her sister to Tri-City Medical. There was actually very little to investigate. Until Samantha woke up, he couldn’t be sure a crime had been committed.
She’d thrown a potted plant through the kitchen window, the same window Marc had just repaired. Dirt, glass and pieces of orange clay littered the floor. On her way in, she must have cut herself on the glass shards adhering to the window frame, because there were smears of dried blood on the sink and countertops.
Once inside, it appeared she’d stumbled into the living room, fallen down and passed out where she landed. Whether she was attacked before, after, during, or not at all remained to be seen. The blood on her face and thighs could have been sustained during her clumsy break-in. Or, as Marc strongly suspected, it may have been the result of a consensual act.
For the first time, Marc wondered if Samantha could have been responsible for the dead cat on Sidney’s bed. She was volatile, emotionally unstable and she had a great motive, if she knew Greg was sniffing around her little sis.
Marc made arrangements for the window to be repaired before driving to Tri-City Hospital, where Samantha was being treated. He learned she’d been admitted to a private room and was expected to make a full recovery. The doctor’s exam indicated she’d engaged in intercourse sometime over the past twenty-four hours, and they were running a blood toxicology. Marc requested a sample be sent to the crime lab as well. He’d be interested to find out if Samantha had some Maximum Relaxem in her system, on top of everything else.
Sidney didn’t look up from her sister’s bedside when he walked in.
He took a seat in the corner of the room, knowing he wasn’t welcome. He was still smarting from her earlier criticism and pissed off that he hadn’t crawled into bed with her this morning to redeem himself.
He’d wanted to. God, how he’d wanted to. Her gloriously nude body, bathed in pale morning light, stretched out on his rumpled comforter, was the most arousing, tempting, heart-wrenching sight he’d ever laid eyes on.
Her back was so elegantly curved he could have spent an hour nibbling his way down her spine. Her breasts were lush and inviting, her nipples blush pink and soft in repose, her face achingly beautiful under the blanket of sleep.
As he imagined sliding his palm over her smooth belly, watching it grow round with his child, he felt his already throbbing erection become even harder.
That was when he panicked.
He was getting off on an idea that terrified him. Something was wrong with him, he’d decided. Drastically, fundamentally wrong.
He had thrown a sheet over her and fled to the kitchen, hoping whatever illness he’d come down with was temporary, and resolving not to touch her until he’d recovered. Of course, she’d teased him without mercy over breakfast. Even a cold shower couldn’t calm his raging hard-on.
What had brought him under control, finally, was her wince of discomfort as she put on her panties, reminding him how rough he’d been the night before.
He stifled an agonized groan, hating himself for hurting her.
“I called Greg,” she said. “He’s not coming.”
Shaking away his regrets, he looked over at Sidney.
“He told the girls Samantha was in the Bahamas. He doesn’t want them to worry.”
Marc tried to put his thoughts in order. “Is he aware that she’s fooling around with his business partner?”
“Maybe. She certainly knows about Elisabeth, his secretary.”
“Does she know about you?”
Sidney glanced back at Samantha, guilt and sorrow apparent on her features. “No. I never told her he-”
“He what?”
Her eyes flew to the doorway, and a strange expression crossed over her face. It was a mixture of hope and uncertainty, as if she wasn’t quite sure the recipient of her gaze returned her affection.
“Mama,” she said softly, rising to her feet.
Sidney’s mother was fine-boned and delicate, dressed in a wispy silk blouse and pencil slim trousers. So insubstantial was her appearance that her heavily coiffed hair and chunky jewelry seemed to weigh her down. Her eyes were blue and feral, like Samantha’s, but also cold. When she embraced Sidney with open arms, Marc found himself letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“I asked you to talk to Samantha,” she said when she released Sidney, her voice dripping South
ern scorn. “To look out for her. Instead you left her alone and helpless all night.”
Sidney’s mouth trembled at the reprimand, but she didn’t open it to defend herself.
“Aurelia,” a man scolded, putting his hands on her thin shoulders. At six-four or taller, he was a veritable giant, yet Marc hadn’t noticed him until he’d spoken. His salt and pepper hair was cut military short, and though he had the rigid stance of a drill sergeant, his authoritative presence was muted by the tiny blond fury standing in front of him.
Her eyes narrowed on Marc, who felt her disapproval like a blast of frigid air. “Where were you?” she asked Sidney, crossing her arms over her flat chest. “What were you doing?”
“Oh, lay off, Mama,” Samantha mumbled from the hospital bed. Her lashes fluttered open then closed again. “Maybe if you’d actually had sex in the past twenty-five years, you wouldn’t begrudge the rest of us for getting it when and where we can.”
Mrs. Morrow’s lips pursed with displeasure, but she swept across the room to kiss her daughter’s ashen cheek. “Tell us what’s happened. The police thought you’d been ravaged.”
“I’m fine,” she said, accepting a sip of water. “I just, um, fell and hit my head climbing in through Sidney’s window. I guess I was out for a while.”
Everyone in the room knew she was lying. “There, there, dear,” Mrs. Morrow said, smoothing her hair. “Sidney thought you might want some time away from it all. We know a nice place near Dana Point where you can get all the rest and rehabilitation you need-”
“Rehab?” Samantha said, straightening. “I’m not going to rehab.” She turned to Sidney, changing from protective older sister to vindictive brat in a split second. “Why did you call them? I had a little accident and you’ve got to blow it all out of proportion, alerting the police like it’s a national freaking emergency! Did you blab to Greg, too?”
Sidney’s eyes filled with tears.
Samantha let her head fall back on the pillow. “Oh God, Sidney, why don’t you just sign over custody of my kids, and have me committed, while you’re at it?”
Dangerous to Touch Page 16
