“Everyone thinks it’s a great idea but me, which makes me look like a jerk.”
He chuckled, smoothing her hair, looking into her face. “It doesn’t make you look like a jerk. You have most of the weight of Ed’s care on your shoulders. You’re protective of him. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“My sister thinks I’m being overly protective.” She shifted her gaze, meeting his.
“So maybe you are,” he said gently. He leaned forward and kissed her. “That makes you a good daughter, not a bad one.”
She kissed him back. “You really think so?” His mouth felt good against hers. Warm. Firm. “Or are you just saying whatever you think I want to hear so you’ll get invited upstairs?”
“I truly believe you have your father’s best interests at heart. Always,” he said firmly. Lincoln’s voice got huskier. “And yes, I’m hoping to get invited upstairs.” He kissed her again, this time touching the underside of her upper lip with the tip of his tongue.
“Mmm,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “You taste good.”
He took the half-full wineglass from her hand and set it aside, then scooted closer so they were lying on their sides face-to-face. “You taste better.”
He kissed her again, slowly, taking his time. As he pressed his mouth against hers, he cupped one of her breasts. Through the fabric of her sweater and bra she felt a trill. She leaned into him, opening her mouth to his kiss.
Lincoln slipped his hand under her sweater. Casey reached behind her and unfastened her bra. She sighed with him as his warm hand found the weight of her breast.
Still mouth to mouth, he pushed her gently onto her back. Casey wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer as he pushed up the hem of her sweater. Her voice caught in her throat in a jagged gasp as he closed his hot, wet mouth over her nipple.
Casey groaned. “We should go upstairs.”
“Mm-hmm.”
She rolled her head back, closing her eyes, savoring the sensation as he sucked gently. “I’m serious.” She lifted her head off the carpet. Let it fall.
He released her breast. “So am I.” He rubbed her taut nipple with the pad of his thumb.
She grabbed his hand. Lying in front of the fireplace making love sounded romantic, but Casey yearned for the privacy of her bedroom. Not just because her father was sleeping thirty feet away, but also because she felt exposed here, even with the shades drawn. She felt vulnerable.
She tugged on his hand as she rolled up on her knees. He faced her.
“Come on,” she whispered. They touched hands palm to palm. Kissed.
“Should I bring the wine?” He got to his feet and offered his hand to her.
“Sure.”
“First one upstairs gets to undress the other,” he whispered in her ear.
Casey took off.
Angel stared at the pieces of paper that Charlie had pushed in front of her on the dinette table. She was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. All she wanted to do was climb into bed under the old quilt her granny Naomi had made and go to sleep. She had to be at work at seven tomorrow morning. But it wasn’t often that Charlie actually wanted to talk to her and he was being so nice. He’d even made her a cup of tea.
“So the police questioned you. So what? They didn’t arrest you. They didn’t even take you in for questionin’. I don’t understand why you care what she says.” She grabbed the tea bag, lifted it up, then lowered it again. She liked her chamomile tea strong with lots of sugar. Real sugar. None of that stuff out of the pink packet. “You ain’t been nowhere, and Sweet Jesus knows you ain’t been sendin’ any drawings in the mail. I’ve seen how bad yer drawin’ is.”
“This is about my rights. The police, that bitch, she don’t have the right to harass me. They came right here to my home.”
She wanted to remind him that it was her place, even if it wouldn’t be for long if she didn’t get caught up on the rent, but she kept her mouth shut.
“How am I supposed to find a decent job when I’m afraid any minute she’s gonna sic the police on me?” he ranted, sounding like James.
“It’s not the police or that woman keepin’ you from gettin’ a job, Charlie.” She knew she shouldn’t push him, but it was true. “You can’t find a job because you ain’t tried.”
“This could mean a lot of money for me, baby. For us.”
“I don’t know about a lawsuit.” Angel lifted the tea bag out of the hot water, dropped it over her spoon, and used the string to strain the tea from the bag. This all sounded way too complicated to believe Charlie had come up with the idea. She looked up at him suddenly. “Is this another one of your brother’s stupid schemes to make money, because if it is, Charlie, you’re gonna lose out. You always—”
“Why do you always think everything is James’s idea? You got no confidence in me, baby.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. She knew that look. Something wasn’t right here. Charlie could “baby” her all he wanted. He was lying. She could tell by the way he squinted. He always did that when he was lying.
But it wouldn’t do any good to accuse him. He’d just lie some more. And she didn’t want to pick a fight with him. Not tonight. She was too tired. Too tired of fighting. Too tired of getting hit.
Besides, she didn’t want to waste the one night she had alone with Charlie fighting with him. They hardly ever had any privacy anymore. Most nights, James slept on the couch, but apparently he and his girlfriend were trying to patch things up, or something. Nights James was here, Angel usually just let Charlie climb on top of her and rut away to keep the peace. She just told him to be quiet. But tonight…tonight maybe there’d be a little something for her if she didn’t piss him off too bad.
“I don’t understand who these people are. They don’t know you.” She rested her hand on the papers on the table. “Why do they care if yer rights been violated? What are they gettin’ outta all this? How much they chargin’?”
“I told ya, baby, it’s free. It’s a citizens’ rights activists organization.”
Now she knew he was lying. Where would he come up with “citizens’ rights activists organization”? Certainly not from his pea-sized brain.
Angel sipped her tea and glanced at the papers again. Rights for the People was what the group was called. It said so right across the top. Charlie said they had offered a lawyer to him free of charge. A whole bunch of lawyers did this kind of thing all over the country. All he had to do was sign the papers and they’d sue for him. They’d sue everyone: the bitch from the hospital, the police, even the state. Charlie said they said it could be done. He said there was money in it. Free money.
Angel knew better than to think there was any such thing as free money. “I don’t know,” she said suspiciously. “If it don’t sound right, it usually ain’t. There’s gotta be some catch.”
“There’s not, I’m tellin’ you. In this country, you’re innocent until proven guilty. They couldn’t prove I was guilty for killin’ Linda so they let me go. They can’t follow me around after they let me go. It says so in the Constitution.”
She pushed the papers away and took another sip of tea. “So, fine, sue ’em. Sue everybody. I hope you do get rich. I do.” Putting the mug down, she got up from the table. “And when you do, I want a new red car. A Hyundai with a sunroof.”
“I’ll get you two. One for you, one for Buddy for when he can drive.” Charlie got up and put his arm around her.
“You get a million dollars, you can pay for Buddy to go to college ’stead of buyin’ him a new car. No sixteen-year-old boy needs a new car.”
“Whatever you want, baby.” He kissed her. “We’ll live in a mansion and we’ll have a maid. We’ll hire James’s girlfriend to scrub our toilets.”
She laughed with him. “I’m goin’ to bed. You comin’?”
He reached up and tweaked her nipple through her sweatshirt. “Sure, baby. I’m comin’ if yer goin’.”
Casey
had switched her bedside lamp on to low so the room was bathed with golden light. Lying on her back, Lincoln above her, she could see his eyes in the semidarkness.
He held her gaze as he thrust into her. She pressed her kiss-bruised lips together in a soft moan and lifted her hips to meet his again.
Lincoln was a good lover. At least she thought so. She’d only ever had sex with two other men, so it wasn’t like she was much of a comparison shopper. And really, Billy didn’t count as a lover, did he?
Half closing her eyes, Casey ran her hand down Lincoln’s lower back and over his butt cheek. It was nice. Like the rest of him, firm but not too muscular. He didn’t work out at a gym, but he did enough chores around his grandparents’ farm that he stayed in good shape.
He leaned over and kissed her, stilling his hips. “Hey,” he whispered in her ear. His voice was thick. “Where are you? You seem like you’re a million miles away.”
“I’m right here,” she breathed. She stroked his cheek with her palm, gazing into his eyes.
“Yeah?”
She raised her hips, taking him deeper. “Yeah.”
He smiled. Kissed her.
She lowered her hips, raised them again, and he grunted in pleasure.
He thrust into her again. Casey slid her arms around his back, pulling him deeper.
He kissed her forehead, pushing away the damp wisps of her hair. He smelled so good. Clean, but with that scent of masculinity that made every woman’s knees a little weak.
Casey pushed harder upward against him. She could feel the tension building deep inside her. Sex was about trust, her therapist said. Orgasm was about ultimate trust.
Casey didn’t know if she was ready to hand Lincoln her ultimate trust, or any man for that matter, but she was on board with the orgasm.
Lincoln moved faster over her and she dropped her hands to the bed, grasped at the sheets. She felt every muscle fiber in her body tense.
She was overwhelmed by the smell of Lincoln, who was all deliciously hot and sweaty. By the weight of his body on top of hers. She was so close….
She raised her legs and wrapped them around his, straining, her hips to his. The orgasm hit, sudden and sweet, and Casey cried out loud, raising her arms off the bed to hug him tightly. Lincoln dropped his head to the crook of her neck, thrust twice more, and he was done for.
Breathing hard, Casey relaxed, letting her arms fall to her sides. Her whole body had been so tight a minute before and now it was like she was floating, floating on a raft in a pool.
Lincoln kissed her cheek tenderly and hovered over her.
She waited for him to roll off, and when he didn’t, she opened her eyes to see him gazing intently at her. “What?”
“You,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful…and loud.”
Mortified, she squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, God. You don’t think he could hear me?”
Lincoln laughed and kissed her again before rolling onto his side beside her. “Nah, you weren’t that loud. Door’s closed. So is his.”
She brought her hand to her face to cover it.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” He drew his hand over her bare belly. “I like to hear you. I like to know you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Oh, I’m enjoying myself, all right,” she said from behind her hand, giggling.
He was looking at her again. Waiting.
She slowly lowered her hand and gazed into his eyes.
“I’m glad we met, Casey,” he whispered. He brushed his knuckles against her cheek and she turned her head, enjoying the feel of his hand on her skin. “I’m glad you’ve let me into your life. I…I feel like we have something special here. Like…I don’t know.”
She smiled up at him. She was glad he hadn’t said he loved her. She didn’t know if she was ready for that. But she liked the tone of his voice. She liked the idea that maybe what was between them scared him a little, too. Casey had always dreamed of marrying, of having children. That dream had seemed dim in the last year, but now her life seemed full of possibilities.
Chapter 20
Adam leaned back in his chair in his home office and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d been working on a case for a couple of hours. No matter what angle he’d attacked it from, he’d come to the same conclusion. The case, due to be heard in court Monday morning, was screwed. The first assistant deputy who’d been assigned to it had failed to provide discoverable evidence to the defense in what anyone in the courtroom was going to consider a timely fashion.
He glanced at his Rolex. A gift from his grandfather when Adam had graduated from law school. It was his most prized possession and not because it was a Rolex, but because it had come from his grandfather with a word of praise. Could have been a Timex for all Adam cared; it was the approval.
Still, the Rolex had been a pretty impressive gift, coming from Adam Preston Sr., who would have been considered a bit of a miser in his time; a cheapskate nowadays. He had lived frugally his whole life, spending little, saving much. He knew a good deal when he saw one and often took advantage of people down and out on their luck, especially in real estate. Over the years, he had accumulated homes and property.
That was why he was so rich, Adam’s mother used to say, albeit a little bitterly. Because he was so stingy. As Preston Sr.’s health had begun to decline, he had insisted that Adam sell the property; he wanted to see the big numbers on bank and investment statements before he died, he had said. And big numbers there were. The sale of the old man’s last condo in Florida had just gone through. The only property left was a farm in Roxana, minutes from the beach, which his grandfather, in an unusual act of generosity, had deeded to Adam.
The farmhouse was in a sad state of repair, but the land was worth a fortune. Adam knew he should sell it while the market for development was hot, but sentimentality had kept him from doing so. As a child, he had spent summers there, puttering in the garden at his grandfather’s side, learning the secrets of growing the juiciest tomatoes and the sweetest corn. At fourteen, Adam had gotten his first job busing tables in a Fenwick Island diner and had pedaled his bike the six miles in each direction each day. His mother had protested it was too far for a boy to ride his bike, but Preston Sr. had prevailed and Adam had kept his job. His grandfather had never once offered to drive him to or from work that summer, not in the early morning rain or the heat of midday. It was the best summer Adam remembered. In August, he and his grandfather had harvested their tomatoes and canned them in Ball jars. They had made the sweetest tomato sauce Adam ever remembered tasting.
Something rattled against Adam’s office window and, startled, he looked up. He’d never gotten around to window coverings anywhere in the house but the bedrooms. Despite what his mother thought, he liked them bare. He liked the way the light spilled through to the sand-colored hardwood floor and travertine all over the house. Even in the winter, it was pretty. Maybe even prettier in the winter because the light seemed so…cool.
Adam heard the rattle again, rose from his chair, and walked to the window. With the light from his desk behind him and the beach dark, he couldn’t see anything. But something didn’t feel right. He rubbed the back of his neck again and wandered out of the room, down the hall.
The house had a reverse plan from most residential homes. The living quarters—the spacious kitchen, living room, and office—were all on the second floor, with a massive wraparound balcony. The four bedrooms and media room were on the first floor, and there was a laundry room, a shower, and storage on the ground floor. Because the house was built on pilings, the second-floor living quarters were actually three stories up, giving a spectacular view by day.
He walked into the kitchen and flipped on the light switch. The kitchen echoed with his footsteps. It was after midnight, too late for snacking, but the memory of his grandfather’s homemade tomato sauce had made him hungry. The dry, tasteless tuna wrap he’d had at the nursing home at seven seemed only a distant memory. Opening the refrigerator, he glanced towa
rd the French doors that led to the upper balcony.
The flapping sound again. A loose shutter maybe? Shingle? Adam had no clue. He was by no means a handyman.
After grabbing a square of Gruyère wrapped in plastic and a green apple, he closed the refrigerator door and set the snacks on the marble countertop. As he walked to the far counter to pull a cutting board from a slot, he stared at the black span of glass windows and doors.
Was someone on the deck?
He left the bamboo cutting board and knife on the counter and walked to the door. He rested his hand on the doorknob. Twisted it. It was locked.
He resisted the urge to open it. If someone was on the deck, three stories off the ground, he had no business opening the door to the intruder. Instead, he reached out and flipped the switch on the wall. The lights went out in the kitchen, leaving him in perfect darkness.
As he waited for his eyes to adjust, he realized the hair on the back of his neck was prickling. He rubbed it. He wasn’t easily spooked, but he was definitely feeling apprehensive. He stared through the glass.
Light from the security lamp along the side of the house gave the deck a dark gray hue. Slowly, silhouettes emerged. On the balcony he could make out the chairs stacked and covered with plastic. The barbeque covered and lashed to the railing. There was a table in the corner.
He looked back toward the stack of chairs. Then, realizing he’d seen movement, he fixed his gaze on the table again. There was something there. Against the railing. A person crouched down maybe? Shoulder-length hair…He squinted.
There was someone there. His or her hair—it seemed kind of long—was blowing in the wind.
Adam’s heart was suddenly beating double time. Keeping an eye on the figure on the deck, he sidestepped to the wall and slowly lifted the phone off the receiver. He eased back in front of the door and glanced at the lit buttons on the handset.
But he had to know what he was looking at before he called the police.
Heart thudding in his chest, phone in his left hand, he reached with his right. He tried to recall which switch in the row of four turned on the balcony lights. He didn’t want to make a mistake and turn on the lights in the kitchen.
Don't Turn Around Page 20
