While She Was Sleeping

by Diane Pershing

  “Nope.” He reached into the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of beer. The very air around him seemed dark with unhappiness.

  “Hey, Nick.” Carly watched him anxiously. “Something’s bothering you and I want to know what it is.”

  “Let it go.”

  He turned his back on her, but she moved around to his front and crossed her arms across her chest. “No. In the past two days, I’ve told you everything you’d ever want to know about me. You’ve made my problem yours, put a friendship on the line for me. Let me give something back. Please. I’m a good listener. Let me in, please.”

  Frowning, he took another drink from the bottle. “It’s just a decision I have to make, that’s all. About whether or not I remain a cop.”

  “Is there any doubt?”

  “Oh, yeah.” His short laugh was bitter. “There’s doubt.” He didn’t go on for several moments, seeming to focus inside. Then he shrugged. “It’s this knee of mine, I told you it got smashed up by a bullet last year. I’ve had three operations on it. Between the hip and the knee...and,” he added with self-disgust, “let’s not forget the hand.”

  “What’s the matter with your hip? And your hand?”

  Nick leaned against the front of the refrigerator, cradling the half-empty beer bottle to his chest. “My hip got screwed up from all the volleyball. It’s why I didn’t pass the sheriffs department physical. Not that I’ve been unhappy at Manhattan Beach. No, these have been the best years of my life.” He stared thoughtfully into space.

  “And your hand?” she prompted.

  “I used to use my fists a lot, in the marines, and before I became a cop.” He held his right hand out, thumb extended. “There’s a pin in there, from when I broke it, all along the thumb line. Believe it or not, except for all that, I’m in great health. Except I’ve got enough artificial parts in me to set off metal detectors,” he added.

  How difficult it was for him to let her see him this way, she thought, unprotected and hurting. She wanted to stroke his face, to offer some comfort. “You love being a cop, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he said brusquely. “So, I have to make this decision. Do I try to get my knee in good enough shape to slog through another few years, or do I get out now?”

  She stared at him, wondering how she could have spent two days with him and not had a hint of this inner turmoil. “I didn’t know.”

  “I didn’t tell you. Besides, you’ve had a couple of life-and-death matters on your mind.”

  Leaning against the counter, she kept her tone deliberately casual. “So, what will you do? Have you thought about options?”

  He stared at her for a moment, as though turning something over in his mind. Then he strode into the living room. Carly followed him. He picked up a letter from the table near the easy chair and handed it to her wordlessly.

  Carly read each word closely. It was an offer to teach a police procedures class at El Camino College. It noted Nick’s fine record, the fact that he had his teaching credential from his sergeant’s training, his leadership ability, and the fact that he’d been president of the police league for two years. She wasn’t sure what all these groups were, but it wasn’t necessary. This was a side of Nick she knew nothing about, another new dimension to him.

  Smiling, she looked up at him. “But this is wonderful.”

  “A glorified desk job,” he answered, dismissing its value.

  “Where you’ll be training new recruits. Breaking them in the way you want them to be broken in. Rookies, like Miguel. Young men and women who need to know what you know. Who are honest and dedicated like you are, not corrupt bullies like my f—” She interrupted herself. She’d been getting carried away. “I’m sorry,” she went on. “I’ve just always thought that teaching is about the most important profession there is.”

  Again, his shrug said, So what? “Maybe.” He walked over to the window, parted the curtain and looked out. “Lately, I’ve had this dream.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m at my old desk, at work. No one’s paying attention to me. They’re all working on a real important case, but they’re horsing around, laughing, like they do when it gets to crunch time. And they’re too busy to notice me. I’m back where I belong but no one gives a damn.”

  Aching for him, Carly walked up to Nick and put her hand on his back. The muscles were rigid with disappointment. “I’m so sorry you’re—”

  He whipped around and faced her. “Stop saying you’re sorry. And I don’t need your pity.”

  She flinched at his vehemence, but refused to let it keep her from having her say. “No, Nick, this isn’t pity, just understanding. You can’t do something you really want to do, and you know you have to accept it, and it hurts.”

  “Dammit, I’m not ready yet.” His jaw clenched.

  “No, I can see that.”

  His pain ate at her. She wanted to give to him as he’d given to her. She wanted to take his mind off his troubles. It was the only explanation she could come up with for what she did next.

  Slowly, she untied the belt of the robe she had on, pulled the lapels open and said, “Do you think you might be ready for me?”

  Chapter 10

  Nick felt his mouth literally drop open. As far as he could remember, in his entire life, no one had ever taken him by surprise in quite this way.

  At once, the mood in the room changed from being heavy with blackness, even self-pity, into something both lighter and more filled with possibilities. Exciting possibilities. In the space of seconds, his heart rate and blood picked up both speed and heat, and most definitely, his groin area tightened with throbbing desire.

  Amazing, he thought. One minute he and Carly were talking about his job crisis and the next, she was doing a strip for him.

  Well, not quite a strip. Admittedly, the expression on her face wasn’t all that sensual, nor all that confident, the way the face of a woman experienced in the art of seduction would look. But she was smiling, and if that smile held more tentative promise than downright sensuality, it was still a bewitching smile.

  As she posed before him, holding the robe away from her body, it was as though she was offering a present that she hoped would be received with pleasure—not really anxious, but not quite self-assured, either. Still, he saw, she seemed also to be laughing at herself, as though she knew she wasn’t doing this too well and found the whole thing amusing.

  He moved away from the window to the blank wall next to it, then leaned against it with feigned nonchalance. He returned her smile while his body continued revving up, going into automatic mating mode, masculine version.

  “Well, well, what have we got here?” Nick asked, draping his arms across his chest in a relaxed fashion.

  “Me, I think.” As Carly’s hands fell to her sides, her eyes widened with a question. “I didn’t wear anything under the robe because you said it was up to me to make the first move.”

  “Is that what this is?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said softly. “It sure is. And, by the way, I like it. A lot. So, what’s your next move?”

  She hadn’t expected that, he could tell. He watched her face change as she thought about it for a couple of moments. Then the sides of her mouth turned up in a seductive curve. She lowered her eyelids slightly, so that she seemed to be peering at him through eyes heavy with suggestion. Finally, with a few leisurely shrugs of her shoulders, she let the robe slither down over her narrow shoulders and curving hips to rest around her ankles.

  He kept his arms crossed, but the muscles in his biceps contracted and he stood a little straighter. The blood in his body seemed to have drained from his veins and pooled between his legs while, in the soft lamplight of the living room, he gazed on the slender, curved, perfect female form standing before him, his own terry-cloth robe draped around her feet.

  The breath caught in his throat as his gaze explored her. He began slowly with her glowing, amber-colored eyes, ling
ered for a hungry moment on that incongruously full mouth, took in her long, graceful neck and elegant collarbone. He paused at the sight of her rounded, peaked breasts—so white, so full, their tips pink and standing at attention. He clenched his fists; his fingers itched to cup her breasts. He ran his tongue around his lips; his mouth yearned for the taste of her.

  But not yet.

  He continued his personal inventory over and down past her subtly rounded stomach and flaring hips. Again, he ached for the feel of her silken skin, wanted to flatten his palms against her hipbones while reaching with his thumbs to stroke the pale curls between her thighs. Craved the feel of her long legs wrapped around him while he plunged into her slick, welcoming womanhood.

  This was bad, Nick thought, as bad as it had ever been. He wanted her with a need so strong, it threatened to erupt in one hot movement. It took all his willpower to clamp down on the urge to grab Carly and flatten her against the wall, rip down his zipper and take her, right there, pump himself into her while she stood, braced by the wall so she wouldn’t lose her balance, abandon himself in her and then—finally!—let them both fall to the floor without him letting go.

  No, he told himself. He was usually the aggressor with women, but this was Carly’s move on him; he would use whatever restraint he could muster, even if the thought was enough to send his body into an impatient frenzy.

  He felt his chest heave up and down rapidly in an effort to draw enough air into his lungs, but he stayed where he was. “You’re beautiful.”

  She spread her hands and looked down at herself, then back up at him, her expression shyly pleased. “Am I, really?”

  “Yes.”

  He said nothing else. Waited.

  Their eyes locked and messages sizzled back and forth between them, although just what they were was beyond his present capabilities. His head was too filled with sensation to allow any coherent thought. What he did know was that several feet separated them, but the buzz he felt was as strong as if the distance was inches, and he and Carly were poised on some sort of threshold, about to touch after hours of teasing.

  He waited for her to walk up to him; he was pretty sure that would be her next move. But, again, she surprised him. With a small half grin, she turned her back on him then walked away slowly, her softly curved buttocks moving up and down suggestively with each step.

  “Hey,” he said, unfolding his arms. “Where are you going?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “The bedroom. Care to join me?”

  That did it. With two long strides Nick caught up with her, grabbed her from behind and pulled her tight to him. She arched against him, the back of her head falling onto his shoulder, so he could smell her clean hair, take in the musky odor of a woman on fire. The bulge between his legs ached for release; while he used one hand to stroke the silken soft skin of her upper body, he splayed the palm of the other over her stomach and pressed her into his ache. He devoured her neck, licking it, biting the skin at her hairline. He heard her moan as, unable to help himself, he thrust his hips against her rear.

  “Carly,” he murmured, “I like your second move even better than the first one.” He played with her nipples, tweaking them between his fingers, his palm smoothing over the slender curves of her. He couldn’t get enough of stroking her velvety skin and hearing the small, pleased sounds she made in the back of her throat.

  “And the third,” he muttered, his mouth against her hot skin.

  “Good,” she said between strained breaths. “I hoped you would.”

  He tongued all around her ear and reveled in her quick intake of breath, the loud moan of desire she emitted. “Sure it’s not because you’re feeling sorry for me?” he murmured.

  Her small, answering chuckle was husky with sensuality. “If I did this with every person I’ve felt sorry for, I’d be doing it with a lot more skill.”

  “You’re skillful enough for me.”

  His questing fingers found the moist folds between her legs and he used one finger to rub back and forth till she was moaning and writhing with a need that matched his own. He wanted to hear her scream, wanted to feel her soft interior muscles clench and shudder with release before he took her—because he wasn’t sure he could hold out much longer.

  “No,” Carly said suddenly, breaking the grip of his hands and stumbling away from him.

  “What?” Disappointment, more surprise, slammed into him like a boxer’s jab.

  She spun around to face him. Her eyes bright, her face flushed with color, she announced, “No, it’s going too fast. We haven’t even kissed yet. I want to kiss you.” She put her hands behind his neck and pulled his head down, then pressed her lips to his and plunged her tongue into his mouth. Before he had a moment to recover, her hands found their way under the bottom of his shirt, pushing it up. Halting the assault on his mouth, she whispered, “I don’t want to be the only naked person in the room.” Then she lowered her head and ran her tongue over his nipples, first one, then the other.

  As she heard Nick’s breath hissing between his teeth, Carly was filled with a sense of joy that was exhilarating. Not only joy. She felt powerful. Female. Lusty. Desired. It was similar to the way she’d felt when she’d been Amanda, that sense of total freedom unlike anything in her admittedly limited sexual experience.

  But that whole night had had a dreamlike quality. This, tonight, was real. Now she wasn’t Amanda. She was Carly. For Nick, that seemed to be enough.

  He pulled his shirt up over his head, got his arms caught somehow and muttered curses while he untangled himself and got rid of the pesky piece of clothing. And all the while, Carly chuckled quietly and flicked her tongue over his nipples, his chest, the line of black hair that disappeared into his jeans. She could feel his skin trembling; the fine, quivering pulse matched her own. She’d never teased a man like this, had never felt confident enough. But Nick’s reaction to her every move gave her all the confidence she’d ever need.

  With a groan, he grabbed one of her hands and placed it over the prominent bulge behind the zipper of his jeans. “Better be careful,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I’ve been carrying this for almost two days and the slightest move—” He shuddered. “Well, I make no promises.”

  “Two days? Really?”

  When he nodded, she added, “The slightest move?”

  Falling to her knees, she cupped him between her hands, using one finger to scratch along the base of his shaft. The denim fabric prevented her from actually touching his flesh, but he reacted as though she had.

  Grabbing the sides of her head, he gasped, “I’m warning you.”

  She looked up at him and met his burning gaze, feeling powerful and mischievous and as thoroughly, deliciously aroused as he appeared to be. “This is practice. My assertiveness-training group told me—”

  He didn’t let her finish her sentence. Instead, he tightened the grip on her head and pulled her up to kiss her thoroughly and aggressively, taking charge. His tongue moved in and out and around the insides of her mouth, showing her without words what he wanted, what he intended, to do to her. Then he broke the kiss.

  “What did they tell you?” he asked, not letting go of her head, his gaze lingering on her mouth. His green eyes glittered, ablaze with desire for her.

  “That I need to play with fire—” again, she reached deliberately between his legs and cradled him in her hand “—so I can learn how to handle it.”

  A look of anguish flashed over his face and he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. She was about to push him over the edge, she realized with a thrill of anticipation.

  Then, with a growl, he swept her up in his arms. “You want fire? You got it.”

  He carried her into his bedroom and set her down on the bed so she lay sprawled across the width of it. She watched as he ripped off the rest of his clothing. He stood naked before her, his body tense with wanting her, his fists clenched at his sides. He was all sinewy muscle and deeply tanned skin, with
a paler band of flesh where his bathing suit marked him.

  And there, from the thatch of black hair between his legs, the evidence of his burning need for her projected outward. He was fully erect, and she was fully aware of him, as she hadn’t been two nights before. She’d been feeling the effects of a drug then; at this moment, there were no drugs in her system to alter reality. She didn’t need them. The sight of Nick sent a thrill through her that made her entire body shudder with longing.

  The room filled with the harsh sounds of their breathing as he rose over her. Setting one knee on the bed next to her supine body, Nick pinned her hands above her head. A thrill of fear shot through her system, even as she realized she didn’t like being forcibly held down, no matter how titillating it might feel.

  “Hey,” she said. “I’m supposed to be doing wicked things to you.”

  He stopped in midmovement, although it seemed a major effort for him to do so. He gritted his teeth again, then gave her a reluctant grin. “Okay. You’re calling the shots.” He stood up again, reached into the single drawer of the bedside table and took out a small, foil-wrapped square. “You want to do this, or shall I?”

  She put her hands behind her head and smiled in anticipation. “You. I want to watch.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He tore the top off the condom, fit it to the head of his shaft and slowly rolled it down as far as it would go. He kept his eyes glued to hers the whole time, but the slight tremor in his hands belied the coolness of his gaze. When he was done, he opened his hands. “Safe. Now what?”

  “Lie down, on your back.”

  He did as he was told, sprawling next to her on the bed, then raising himself on his elbows. “Ready when you are.”

  He certainly was, Carly observed. Taking her time, she slowly slid one leg over his thighs and balanced herself on her knees, careful not to touch him. Yet.

  “What about foreplay?” she asked innocently.

  His chest moved up and down rapidly. “What do you call what we’ve been doing?” he gasped.

  “Having fun.”

  Grabbing her hips, he brought her down on him, hard. As she cried out with both surprise and pleasure, he said, “So is this.”