“Want to walk a little before we head back to the truck?” Dylan asked as if sensing her desire to keep real life at bay for a little while longer.
She nodded. “I’d like that.”
He draped his arm around her shoulders as they walked down the sidewalk, their hips bumping companionably along the way. “Just one thing—” he leaned over to whisper in her ear “—I still hate shopping.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip to keep her smile in check. “So you still believe in hitting the mall once a year to stock up on underwear and socks and anything else you need?” Are you in the habit of buying yourself red boxers now or did someone else purchase them for you?
“I’ll have you know I went twice last year. The second time was because I had to replace my favorite boots.”
Alex was relieved to see that most of the shops they passed were still familiar to her. She feared with so much else lost that once-known surroundings would also be a thing of her forgotten past.
After she’d passed her bar exam, she’d originally planned to practice law in San Francisco, had even considered several offers she received, but Will Zane’s offer tempted her the most, even if it took her outside the city. He explained to her that many of his clients needed the assistance of an attorney with corporate experience. He offered her opportunities she wouldn’t have had in a larger firm. She never regretted her move. In fact, she’d relished the chance to make partner sooner with the smaller firm and focused on that goal.
You’ll need to choose, Alex.
She stopped short as the words echoed inside her head.
Dylan skidded to a stop and looked down at her, then at the store window she was staring blindly into. He nudged her with his shoulder.
“I had no idea you were interested in sports memorabilia,” he commented idly. “What caught your eye? The autographed football or the trading cards?”
“Hmm?” She looked up. “Uh, no, I was just thinking.” She started to move on, but Dylan grabbed hold of her hand to stop her.
“What’s wrong, Alex?” His gentle tone was almost her undoing.
She shook her head. Until she figured out the exact significance of the words she wasn’t going to confide in him. “So much has happened lately, yet tonight has seemed so normal,” she lied. “It makes me feel off balance.”
“You’re due to have some normal time.” He tugged on her hand and led her down the street back toward the police station. “We probably should head back to your place. Who knows what Clarence has gotten up to while we’ve been gone? He could be throwing a wild party.” He shook his head in mock concern.
“You are silly.” Alex nudged his shoulder with hers the way he’d done to her earlier.
“And pleased that I can make you laugh.” When they reached the security gate guarding the station’s parking lot for employees and patrol cars, he pulled a magnetic card out of his wallet and inserted it in the slot. They walked inside as the gate slowly glided to one side.
Five minutes later, Dylan parked his truck in the guest parking lot near Alex’s condo.
“It looks pretty quiet up there,” she commented as they ascended the stairs. “Maybe Clarence decided to spend a quiet evening in.”
“Or maybe they heard us coming and snuck out the back. They have that ability to land on all four feet if they bailed out from the balcony.” He waited as she punched in the code for the door lock and listened for the click.
“They cleaned up after themselves, too,” she said as they entered. Clarence lay snoozing across the back of the couch. He didn’t stir at their arrival. “Look at that. He’s not even pretending to be a good watch cat.” She dropped her purse on a nearby table and toed off her sandals. She pulled her scrunchie out of her hair and dug her fingers into her scalp as she walked into the kitchen.
“Maybe he’s perfecting his role for working undercover.” Out of habit, Dylan checked the windows and wandered through the other rooms, pausing the longest in Alex’s bedroom doorway.
“We’re in luck. They left the wine alone. Do you want a glass?” she called out.
“Sure, why not.” He studied the bisque quilted comforter with its olive, cream and bronze throw pillows carefully stacked against the pillow shams. It was quietly elegant, like the Alex that first appeared before their divorce. Not like the woman he’d been with today. He longed to toss her onto the immaculate comforter and muss the bed—and the woman—a little.
When he wandered to the front, he found Alex seated on the balcony. A pillar candle gave off a rich vanilla scent as it burned on the small table that also held an open wine bottle and two glasses. The lamps lighting up the tennis courts and along the walking trail gave off a distant illumination, leaving them in a world of their own making. He noticed she had stretched her legs out to prop her crossed ankles on the railing while she sat slumped down in the chair with her neck resting against the back. The evening breeze ruffled her hair around her face.
“I poured a glass for you.” She waved a lazy hand toward the table.
“I hope you’re not trying to get me drunk,” he said, lowering his body into the chair next to hers and taking the glass closest to him. “I’ve never been easy. Cheap, yes, but not easy.” He leaned over. “Was that a giggle I just heard? You really are going for normal tonight.”
“I’m trying.” She gestured with her glass. “Then I looked out there and swore I saw someone skulking in the bushes by the tennis courts.”
Since she didn’t appear worried, he followed suit. “And was someone skulking out there?”
“No, it was just a dog. Why don’t you tell me why you and Detective Whitmire don’t get along?” Alex suggested.
He heaved a dramatic sigh. “It’s a very sad story. He got huffy at a department softball game last summer. Whitmire isn’t a very good player, but he likes to act as if he was descended from Babe Ruth. All I did was call out if he’s going to bat we’d be better off to forfeit the game and go out and get drunk. He got cranky, I ended up in the ER with a concussion. End of story.” He shrugged it off.
Alex shook her head. “You never learn, do you?”
“I sure did that time. I sat in the ER begging someone to just shoot me to put me out of my misery while Celeste spent the next hour yelling at me.”
“And what did Detective Whitmire end up with?” she asked.
He picked up the wine bottle. “Let me refill your glass.” He leaned forward.
She quickly placed her hand over the glass before he could top it off. “What happened to Detective Whitmire, Dylan?”
“Give me a break, Al, the last thing I want is for you to sound like my mother,” he grumbled, refusing to look at her. “He didn’t get a scratch on him. Happy?”
She rested her chin on her palm. “Really? Is there video?”
“Knowing those guys, it’s probably up on a Web site somewhere if you want to go to the trouble of Googling our names.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t consider it any trouble at all. I love to be entertained.” She caught the look on his face. “What? You can’t say I didn’t like to be entertained before because I know different.”
“Sure you did, if it was an art exhibit or concert in San Francisco. You never were much to take in a movie unless it had subtitles.”
She frowned, not liking what she heard. “I don’t understand it. I don’t remember being a snob, but I don’t doubt what you’re saying, either.”
She picked up her wineglass and took a few sips to ease the dryness in her throat. “There is one thing I have noticed that I think bothers me more than anything else. What happened to me that night is common knowledge. I even made page one in the Sierra Vista Observer, but since then I haven’t received one phone call or e-mail from a friend asking how I am. I guess no one cared what happened to me.” Her voice lowered to a mere whisper. She set her wineglass to one side. “Maybe I better lay off this. I’m starting to sound absolutely pathetic.”
“You’ve always focused on your
career and tended to let your social life slide,” he said carefully, likewise putting his glass to one side.
Alex turned sideways. “Please, Dylan, I want you to tell me what I was like these past two years,” she pleaded. “We had to have seen each other during that time, so you would know.”
“We didn’t see each other. We were busy with our work.” He avoided her question just as he avoided her gaze.
The glow from the candle cast a soft, warm light onto her face. “We never talked things over afterward?” She slumped back in her chair.
Dylan knew he couldn’t look at her sad face any longer. He stood up and walked over to her. Alex let out a soft squeal of surprise when he bent down and picked her up, then sat down in her chair and settled her in his lap, his arms wrapped around her and her legs hanging over the chair arm.
“Forget worrying about the past, Alex. You wanted normal, remember? So what we’re going to do is sit here and enjoy the evening.” His breath tickled her ear. “We’ll be normal.” He shifted her around into a better position, where she lay with her side resting against his chest and his chin resting on her head.
“This is nice,” she agreed.
Dylan inhaled the faint citrus scent of Alex’s hair as the breeze picked up strands and blew them across his face. She felt warm and familiar in his arms, bringing back memories of nights they’d lain together in a hammock he had strung between two trees in the backyard. They’d curled up together and joked about counting stars and making wishes on any shooting star they happened to see. And sometimes they discarded their clothing and made love under the cover of darkness. Those were the nights he remembered well. And with Alex in his arms again, he felt that temptation rise up. Among other things.
Alex tipped her head to one side and offered up a smile of pure seduction. She raised herself up and shifted her body, settling a knee on either side of him so that she knelt in front of him. She ran the back of her fingers along the collar of his shirt.
“It seems a shame we have to let a gorgeous moon go to waste,” she murmured, moving her fingers up to trace the curve of his ear.
Dylan was positive the cool evening temperature jumped up a good fifty degrees. He gripped her around the waist to keep her from driving him even crazier. “Uh, Alex, I don’t want to think the wine is talking. We need to keep clear heads here.”
She gave him a slow, sweet smile that hit him stronger and hotter than any amount of alcohol could. “I don’t allow wine to do my talking for me, Dylan. My memory may be impaired, but I would like to assure you that the rest of me is in perfect working order.”
“Yes, so I’ve noticed.” His fingers splayed out, resting just under her breasts. He moved them up a fraction until they cupped the gentle curve.
The soft, powdery scent of her perfume wove an enticing net around him just as her smile brought up memories of just what those lips could do. It was enough to give a man a heart attack.
“Dylan…I almost think I’m better off not remembering,” she said softly. “I can start out fresh. Try something new. Relive something old. Maybe even try something a little wild.”
“Funny, I never thought of myself as something old.” He was struggling to keep a clear head even with erotic pictures of him and Alex dancing through his head. When she leaned forward and brushed his mouth with hers, he tasted chocolate and raspberries along with the wine she’d drunk. For a moment he tilted forward and returned the kiss, rediscovering her taste and the feel of her skin—like silk under his fingertips.
Dylan deliberately shut off the part of his brain that yelled Wait a minute! Not a good idea! You’re her bodyguard, not her lover! Except it was the word lover that kept his attention.
He hadn’t had as many relationships since his divorce as some people thought he had. It was easier for others to think he was dating a different woman every night than for them to know he found it easier to be by himself. The few women he dated knew he wasn’t looking for anything permanent and that no promises would be made. He found it easier to keep what was left of his heart to himself. The only woman who breached his defenses was the one to tear them into bits, then leave him to pick up the pieces. He wasn’t sure he wanted to take that chance again.
But then he looked up at her face and saw so much there that he knew he’d never seen before. Alex’s expression held an openness she’d never revealed until now.
He cupped her cheek with his palm. “Don’t make too many changes too soon, Alex. Give yourself time to adjust.”
She shook her head. “This isn’t a whim. I don’t remember our bad times, Dylan. I remember the good. Is it so wrong to want to have that again? Can’t you forget the past two years just for tonight?”
He didn’t mistake the yearning in her voice, just as he didn’t mistake what she was asking of him. But he didn’t think she truly understood what she was asking.
“Dylan,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his again along with a small flick of the tongue. She combed her fingers through his hair, then rested them against his nape. She turned her head only to blow out the candle. The faint scent of vanilla lingered in the air.
He could call himself a fool in the morning. He could tell himself he was an idiot in the light of day. And he could hope she wouldn’t hate him afterward.
Dylan pulled her down against him and captured her mouth with a hunger that had been lying dormant for the past two years. He revisited the dark cavern of her mouth, renewed memories of her taste and rediscovered the feel of her skin against his. He helped her shrug off her hoodie, then he pushed the hem of her top up and off, tossing it to one side. He used his fingertips to trace the lacy line of her bra before reaching around to unhook it, so he could slide his fingers under the band and find the soft mounds of flesh. She arched her back with feline-like grace as his palms gently kneaded her breasts.
“Magic,” he murmured against her lips. “Always magic.” He lost himself in the taste, scent and feel of Alex in his arms. Not to mention the way her butt nestled so familiarly in his lap. He ran his palms down her sides to rest on her hips, lightly pressing her downward against the bulge straining to escape his jeans.
Alex dipped her head and gently latched on to his lower lip, nibbling softly. His hands tightened on her hips, raised her up slightly, then brought her back down against him. She moaned quietly against his lips and wiggled more, bringing an answering groan.
“This balcony is very private,” she said, panting slightly. She pulled his shirttail out of his jeans and allowed her hands to move under the cotton-knit fabric. The rough hairs were pleasantly abrasive against her palms as they traveled upward, tracing the muscular lines of his chest. Still smiling, she pulled his shirt up and over his head, dropping it onto the ground by the chair.
“No snoopy neighbors?” he asked, finding it difficult to keep his mind on anything but the silky feel of her breasts against his chest. He tunneled his fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her face. The moonlight cast an unearthly glow on her features and bare shoulders as she rose up over him.
“If I was so inclined, I could sunbathe nude out here and no one could see one inch of my body,” she murmured.
Dylan thought of how easy it would be to move his hand downward, lower his jeans zipper, lower her pants and finalize what they were just beginning. There was no doubt that Alex was willing. There was just one problem. The timing was very wrong.
Except he could see the emerald glaze in her eyes and the peachy-pink flush to her skin that he knew was the second step to arousal. The first step had been when she started kissing him.
With his hands still buried in her hair, he pulled her back down to him and kissed her with a hunger that had built up within him for the past two years. He didn’t ask permission, he invaded. His tongue parted her lips and swept inside, tasting the wine she’d drunk and the spicy flavor of arousal. He inhaled the musky scent of desire on her skin and fell even farther into the sensual web she wove around him.
> “Dylan,” she murmured. “Please.” She moved against him with clear intent.
He kept kissing her but kept her in place. When she realized he would go no further, she stopped.
“Is it because we’re divorced? Or because what I’m feeling from you is really nothing more than a normal male reaction?” she asked.
“It’s not a good time, Alex, but not for the reasons you think,” he said quietly. “There’s a lot going on for you right now. Sex would only mix things up even more. Do you really want that?”
She carefully slid off his lap and bent down to pick up his shirt, which she tossed on his lap, then pulled on her tank top and hoodie. Dylan felt regret seeing that porcelain skin covered up. Even telling himself that it was for the best didn’t make it any easier.
“Think of everything that happened today,” he reminded her. “Emotionally, you’ve gone through a lot. This is just a reaction to everything. I don’t want you regretting anything that could happen and then you’d end up hating me.” He paused for a moment, because his brain and common sense were battling over what should happen next.
She appeared to think over his words. “Does it have to do with the gaps in my memory?”
“Part of it does,” he admitted. “You’re vulnerable now, Alex. I can’t take advantage of that.”
He inwardly cursed as he watched her expression shift from desire to dejection. Within seconds she masked her feelings with a look of indifference that he knew was nothing more than a lie.
“You’re right,” she said quietly. “It’s been a long, eventful day and I am very tired. I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll clean up,” he told her as she bent down to pick up the wine bottle and glasses. She nodded and walked back into the kitchen. A moment later, the light in the kitchen winked out.
Dylan picked up the wine bottle and gulped a mouthful.
“There is nothing more painful than being a damn gentleman.”
Alex never thought she could hurt this much. Dylan wanted her. She had no doubt about that. He’d kissed her as if he wanted to bury himself in her. It brought up memories of heated lovemaking where nothing mattered but each other.
Memories After Midnight Page 17
