Hidden Gems

by Carrie Alexander

  Jamie looked into the emptied purse. “What’s it?”

  “My passport.” She found it on the floor. “The camera. A magazine. Odd bits and pieces that don’t mean a thing as far as I can tell.”

  The cop loomed. “This was no ordinary break-in. Nothing’s missing. Not your jewelry. Not the TV or other electronics. Do you keep cash in the house?”

  Marissa shook her head. “Not much to speak of. I had my wallet with me.”

  Jamie had retrieved the pieces of the camera. “You might be able to get this fixed. The film is ruined though. You won’t have any pictures of your trip.”

  “Not that I want to remember it,” Marissa said wryly, “but I loaded a fresh roll after I got home.” She waved a hand at the broken pieces. “You can toss that out. I needed a new digital camera anyway.”

  “So we’ve got minor damage and nothing stolen,” the other policeman said. “Not much to go on, I’m afraid, Miss Suarez.”

  “What about fingerprints?” She put a hand to her throat and shuddered. “Damn, that’s right. He wore gloves.”

  Jamie moved closer, patting her back when what he really wanted was to stuff her in a bank vault under twenty-four-hour guard.

  “And you didn’t see his face,” the officer reiterated. He’d already said there was little hope of an arrest.

  “No, but I can tell you that he was a drinker who needed to see the dentist. Not much to go on.” Marissa shook her head, then suddenly brightened. “Oh! I forgot to say there was a second guy, at the bottom of the fire escape. He looked up at me. I saw his face. If he was the lookout, he wasn’t a very good one because he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.” Jamie squeezed her hand. “And it was strange, because something about him was familiar.”

  “Like you might have known him?” O’Connor asked hopefully.

  “No-o-o, not really. But I could have seen him around the neighborhood.”

  “Casing the joint,” Jamie said, trying to make her smile.

  O’Connor was all business. “That might be. Give me a description, ma’am. Height, weight, distinguishing characteristics.”

  “That’s not so easy.” Marissa frowned. “It was dark. There were shadows. And he was dressed in black.”

  “Race?”

  “Caucasian. His face was pale. Narrow, with sharp features, so I’d say he was not very heavy. He had dark eyes and stubble.”

  “Visible tattoos?”

  “Not that I noticed.”

  “Could you identify him from a mug shot?”

  “I can try.”

  “Come by the precinct. I’ll set you up.” O’Connor gave her a card. “Here’s my number, for, uh, you know.”

  Not all business, Jamie noted. The man’s face was getting ruddy and he kept glancing at her legs.

  “Thanks,” Marissa said easily. She was accustomed to men stumbling over their tongues around her.

  The cop tugged at his equipment-laden belt. No Freudian meaning there. “Do you have a place to stay?”

  Jamie said, a little too loudly, “She does.” Marissa smiled at him, the slightly swollen look of her lips triggering his renewed arousal. He wished the police would hurry up and finish.

  Muscles in the officer’s jaw bunched as he looked between them. “Gotcha.”

  Marissa showed them to the door. “I’ll be in touch about the mug shots.” They insisted she should come in as soon as possible, while her memory was fresh.

  “We’ll go together to the police station, but first we’re calling a locksmith,” Jamie said as soon as the officers were gone. “Seriously.”

  She rubbed her neck. “Let’s get some sleep first.”

  Sleep. Jamie’s heart dropped.

  But she was right, of course. She’d been traumatized. She needed to rest, recover. He’d waited this long, he could wait another night, even though he suspected she’d change her mind about making love with him. If a short delay was all it took, then she was too unsure and becoming lovers wouldn’t have been right anyway.

  So he told himself. His semihard dick wasn’t as understanding.

  He shifted. Think about something else, bud. Anything but how stupid you were to put the brakes on when she’d been raring to go.

  “Your suitcase,” he said.

  “My suitcase?”

  “Where is it?”

  “Under the bed.” She rolled her lip between her teeth, blinking in thought. “Jamie! Do you think the mugger—the one on the street—was after my suitcase? Mine, specifically, I mean.” She clasped his arm, jogging it a little. “He could even be the same person that was here tonight!”

  “That’s possible. Let’s go see.” They hurried back to the bedroom.

  “It’s still here,” she said, pulling the bag out from beneath the bed. “Empty.” She sank down onto her knees and flipped it open to show him. Harry immediately appeared to jump into it, sniffing the corners and butting his head against the flap. “I dumped the suitcase in here when I got home, but the next day I took everything out so the damp swimsuits wouldn’t funk it up. See?” She made a face. “I’m not a total loss in the domestic department.”

  He’d seen her in a bikini and funky wasn’t the word. Neither was domestic goddess. Just goddess.

  “So what else was in the suitcase?” Harry was rubbing his ears against the zipper.

  “Nothing but dirty clothes and a few pairs of shoes. I packed light.”

  “The mugger didn’t know that. I think you’re right about him. Too much of a coincidence if the incidents were unrelated.”

  “So they’ve made two attempts.” She leaned her head against the bed. “I just don’t get it. What do they want from me?”

  Jamie sat and pulled her up beside him, disturbed by her fragility. For all the kick boxing and Pilates classes, she was a featherweight. It was up to him to keep her safe.

  “Let’s go over it again. What did you bring back from the islands? There must have been some item you’ve forgotten. A souvenir maybe?”

  “I wish I could produce a tiki god with a diamond embedded inside.” She shook her head. “But the only thing I bought on Grand Cayman was the straw purse. I needed a beach carry-all. That can’t be what the thief wanted. He threw it aside.”

  “Okay, so what did the burglar say, exactly?”

  She went quiet, mulling it over before finally answering. “He asked ‘Where is it?’ I didn’t know what he meant. I brought it home, he said.”

  Jamie tried to examine the puzzle from another angle. “Then it’s possible the vacation had nothing to do with this?”

  “It has to. I had the impression—” She made a sound of frustration. “Let me think. I swear he said something about me bringing it back from vacation.” There was a pause, then suddenly her head came up. “The airport! His exact words were that I brought it from the airport.” She dropped her voice, quoting. “And ‘We know what you did.’ Does that make any sense?”

  Not to Jamie. “It’s almost as if they think you smuggled something in. Call it the tiki god theory.”

  She tilted her chin. “So I’m Latin. That makes me look like a drug mule?”

  He touched her cheek. “Marissa, full of grace.”

  “Don’t charm me. I’d rather be mad than scared.”

  “There are other emotions.”

  “Like what?”

  He knew what his body wanted him to say, but Marissa was first in his thoughts. “You should feel safe, secure. Comfortable.” His fingers brushed through her hair, combing the shining strands into a ponytail laid across her shoulder. The amber-flecked fire in her eyes dimmed as she relaxed, leaning toward him with a soft sigh.

  He allowed himself a moment to breathe in her scent, before nudging her with his nose. “Hey, babe. Pack a few belongings and let’s get out of here. You’re staying at my place.”

  “All right.” So compliant, for Marissa. “I need to leave a note for Shandi.”

  “Shandi?”

  Marissa win
ced. “Yes, she’s still staying with me.”

  “What happened to the lice and cockroaches?” he teased, before an odd thought hit him. “Where is Shandi?”

  “We were out together. She took off with a guy. I don’t expect her back for hours, if at all, but I want to leave a note anyway.”

  “Oh. Of course.”

  Marissa had gone to the closet. She pulled a hanger, frowning at him over her shoulder. “What does that tone mean?”

  There were things about Shandi that Marissa didn’t know. She wasn’t a friend to count on, especially around men. Jamie had never thought it was his place to tell Marissa that. Not only because he’d rather gouge out his own eyes than see her hurt. He’d figured that Marissa already knew her friend’s character quite well and was choosing to overlook the negatives. Despite the toughness she projected, she believed in the essential goodness of human nature.

  He evaded. “Just that it might be smart to get your keys back.”

  “She already turned them over.”

  “Oh.” And the lock had been picked, which was proof of nothing except that the burglar didn’t have keys.

  “Again with the ‘oh.’” Marissa stared, clearly astounded. “Are you suspecting Shandi now?”

  “She’s not the most reliable person, and she always needs money.”

  “You’re way off the mark. If she’d wanted to rob me, she could have emptied the apartment while I was on vacation.”

  “But you came back early, right?”

  Marissa threw a dress at him. With the heavy wood hanger still in it.

  He batted it down. “All right, I’m sorry. I was only trying to figure this out. Don’t hang me for it.”

  “Ha, ha.” She went to a lingerie drawer, grabbed a couple of skimpy little silk things and balled them in her hand. “You catch Harry and then let’s go.”

  No pajamas, Jamie thought as he chirruped for the cat. And he had only the sofa bed for them to share. It was going to be a long time till morning.

  SOME DISTANCE WAS PUT between them by the business of rearranging his place, getting another pillow, a fresh towel, a bar of soap. Sitting and soothing Harry while Marissa took a quick shower worked on Jamie, as well. He managed to subdue and corral his rampaging lust.

  Until she walked out of the bathroom, blotting her damp hair with a towel, wearing a tiny pink silk top and even tinier bottoms. Their frilled edge lay along the crease of her leg, lifting along the curve of her bottom when she bent and tousled her hair. Straightening, she flung it past her shoulders like a girl in a shampoo commercial. Silk shimmered over her conspicuously pointy nipples.

  “Thanks for the shower. I feel so much better!”

  He grunted. Harry jumped from his lap and went to twine himself around Marissa’s legs. Lucky cat.

  “Where’s your sleep shirt? The big, baggy one?”

  She blinked. “Dirty clothes pile.”

  “Want a T-shirt? Sweats?” A parka. “You’re going to be cold.”

  She glanced at the sofa bed, the extra blankets he’d gathered. “I’m sure you’ll keep me warm.”

  “You know what you’re doing to me, right?”

  Her lips pursed into a tight smile. “Of course.”

  He sighed heavily. “But I’m not supposed to start anything.”

  Or was he?

  She returned her towel to the bathroom, switching off the light before coming back. The apartment turned a dense black. He waited for his eyes to adjust, picking out Marissa’s slender form standing beside the bed.

  “Thus far,” she said, “you’ve exhibited formidable control.”

  “Ah, so this is payback.”

  “Would I be that devious?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  She laughed, agreeing. “Sorry. I’m fresh out of flannel pajamas.”

  “No problem.” He got up and flicked on a bedside lamp. “Hope you don’t mind if I strip down. I put out extra blankets for you, but they’ll make me hot if I wear too much to bed.” He stripped off the top of the pajamas he’d put on for purposes of modesty and protection, leaving only the bottoms, the drawstring tied loosely so they hung low on his hips. He stretched, flexing his chest muscles, then worked his shoulders back and forth.

  Marissa pretended to fluff pillows, but she was watching.

  He rubbed below his navel. “Right or left?”

  “Huh?”

  He rested his hands on his hips. “Do you sleep on the right side or the left?”

  “Oh, right, I suppose.” She dragged her eyes up from the tent puffing out below his waistband. “Actually, I sleep all over. I’m restless. This bed is small. I might end up sprawled on top of you.”

  “I’ve slept under worse conditions.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she got into bed without further comment. She stretched out flat, balancing near the right edge. The blankets were spread neatly over her, pulled up to her chest. She kept her hands outside them, folded atop her rib cage.

  She closed her eyes. Smiled serenely. “Thank you for coming to my rescue. Good night.”

  That was it? Arrgh.

  Moving like an old man, he lowered himself to the bed. With careful positioning, he was able to avoid touching her. The sofa bed’s springs squeaked and groaned, the edge of the thin mattress curling inward as if it wanted to throw them together. He tensed up and clung to his perch.

  Platitudes filled his brain.

  Steady on.

  Take it easy.

  Don’t rush.

  But his usual mantra wasn’t working.

  He remembered how he’d saved for his first guitar when he was fourteen, a limited-edition Gibson acoustic that he’d spotted in a music shop. Too young for a regular job, he’d earned the money by lawn mowing, snow shoveling, dog walking. A year it had taken him. Flashy electric guitars had come and gone through the store, but the Gibson had waited for him, its honey-colored wood sweetly curved and polished.

  And when he’d finally had the money—or most of it; he’d gone to the shop with the intention of setting up a payment plan for the remainder—the guitar was no longer there. It had been sold only days before.

  Eventually he’d bought a similar guitar. A newer, better one, the shop owner had said.

  But it wasn’t the same. He’d coveted that Gibson. And remembered, even now, the pleasure of the one time he’d played her, hair falling in his face, fumbling fingers in the corner of the shop, strumming a simple song.

  So he knew from experience that once wasn’t enough.

  Yet it was better than nothing.

  Better than waiting too long and losing his chance because he’d dreamed too big.

  “JAMIE, are you sleeping?”

  His voice came out of the dark. “No.”

  Marissa smiled to herself. He’d answered so fast that she knew he’d been waiting for her to give him a sign. But on top of everything else she’d been thinking about his off-base suspicions of Shandi and he deserved to suffer, just a little. Shandi was selfish and a mooch, but she wasn’t a thief.

  “Me, neither. I’m stifling under all these blankets.” Marissa flung off two layers. “Much better.”

  “Just right, is it, Goldilocks?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” She brushed her leg against his, to be certain he was thinking about her being half-naked only inches away. “Sorry.”

  Bad idea. The electric touch sent a shivery tingle through her. The heat of him clung to her like a force field, entreating her to roll over and curl up into his warmth. She wanted to dive into him like a pool, swallow him like hot fudge.

  “That’s okay, just don’t do it again,” he reprimanded.

  She slid her foot over. Touched their toes.

  “That was on purpose.”

  “I’m weak,” she whispered.

  He scoffed.

  “I am! When it comes to—” She stopped and thought. Men were her downfall, but not really. While she’d made mistakes, she hadn’t actually suffered for them
. With Jamie though…

  Everything would be different.

  High stakes, big risk.

  Oh, please! Cut the drama. Get over yourself and just jump him already. The world didn’t come crashing to a halt because you lusted after your best friend, and it won’t when you shag him, either.

  Besides, added the impulsive Marissa, he looks too good in his bare chest and bare feet and candy-striped pj’s to pass up.

  The little show he’d put on before getting into bed had worked. She was revved up with nowhere to go.

  When she’d seen how thick and full his penis had grown inside the loose cotton pajama bottoms, her tongue had curled against her teeth, trying to get out. She’d wanted to catch him by the drawstring, drag him near, drop the pants with one quick tug, take him in her hands, in her mouth, taste him on her tongue—

  I want to have sex with my friend, Jamie, she said to herself, testing the idea. Jamie, my lover.

  That sounded fine. Extremely fine.

  Ever since her return from the islands, she’d seen him with new eyes. Unlike the men she’d been dating, Jamie was strong in body and mind.

  Especially in character. She’d underestimated how much she valued an honest, upstanding man.

  She’d intended to tease him, but lust was taking hold. Taking over. The depth and strength was revealing when, for three years, she’d rarely lingered on his potential as a lover. Now that was all she could think of.

  He felt the same way, so at least she wouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of craving and longing and nerves. Not for long.

  “We have to talk,” he said.

  The pit of her stomach dropped like a stone. “That sounds ominous.”

  “No, it’s only picking up where we stopped.”

  She reached for his hand and placed it over her breast. “You stopped here.”

  For one brief moment his fingers closed over her nipple and she felt the tug travel straight through her. Then he yanked his hand away.

  “We have to decide where we want this to go,” he said in a robotic monotone. Even so, the desire in his voice was rough and deep. Embedded.