Hidden Gems

by Carrie Alexander

  “Marissa,” he said into her neck. Prayerfully.

  She breathed his name. “Jamie.”

  His head bumped her chin. She sank a hand into his thick curly hair as he dipped lower. His tongue was a warm, wet lash on her skin, lapping hard at her nipples until she had no choice but to take the next step in their dance.

  First her shoulders swayed, then her hips. He rocked into her, not quite thrusting, but moving just enough so that she felt him throbbing inside her. A delicious sensation. She hooked a leg around him and arched her back, lifting her breasts into the wet heat of his mouth. Passion rushed her veins and her nerve endings swelled and tingled, making her skin so sensitive it was almost painful.

  He released her breast, found her mouth, filled it with his tongue. She tightened on him and he reared back, his face turning fierce as he thrust and thrust again, giving her all of himself. And then he was whispering to her, a chain of exciting, forbidden words—how hot she was, how wet, how tight—all of it leading her deeper into uncharted territory.

  She shook, on the verge of coming apart. Jamie knew what she needed. He hugged her as he pulled out, so slowly it was excruciating, then tightened his hold even more when he drove back in. A scintillating pleasure broke inside her and then she really was coming, but not apart.

  She was consummate. She was whole. And Jamie was right there with her.

  A pressure built behind her lids, at the back of her throat. She held it at bay, sinking her nails into his shoulders as he pumped hard and fast. A deep warmth blossomed from the point of their coupling, washing over her in a swirling wave. She gave in to it, losing herself in the rush and movement and pleasure, losing herself in the moment that felt as though it should never end.

  Jamie slipped out of her. Not wanting to let go, she twined him in her legs and arms. He rested on his elbows, his hands in her hair, kissing her face, his tongue tickling as he licked away the tears that had spilled from her eyes without her realizing it.

  “That was hot,” she said.

  He wouldn’t let her diminish the act. “That was beautiful.”

  She pushed her face into the crook of his arm. “It was.”

  “Still is,” he said, kissing her and softly rubbing his face against her cheek, making her think of the cat.

  She lifted her head. “Was Harry under the bed all this time? He must be traumatized.” Even though their pets were familiar with each other, the cat had fled for safety as soon as she’d released him inside the door to the apartment.

  “Nope.” Jamie gestured with his head. “Look over there.”

  The room was only dimly lit, but Harry was visible, a pale shape ensconced on the easy chair opposite their sofa bed. “Wow,” Marissa said. “He let us be? You’re lucky you don’t have cat scratches up and down your back.”

  “Who says I don’t?”

  She checked her polished nails. “Gosh. Did I hurt you?”

  “Not a bit.”

  She stroked his shoulder and felt him flinch. “Battle wounds.”

  “Do I get a Purple Heart?”

  “Let’s hope not.” Better to skim away from that area, which could easily digress to hearts and flowers when she—he—was feeling so sated. “It must be the different apartment.”

  “What?”

  “Harry. Usually, if I’m with a guy, in a romantic situation, Harry lets his displeasure be known.”

  “Is that why you rarely bring men home?”

  So he’d noticed that. She’d always told herself that she liked her privacy and that was why she kept her home life separate from her sex life. But at least some of her reticence to share herself with even the long-term boyfriends was because she didn’t want to involve either Harry or, she must admit, Jamie.

  She summoned a humorous tone. “I’m careful about who I introduce Harry to, that’s all.” Jamie had met anyone who lasted long enough to be called a boyfriend. He was scrupulously friendly to them, too, even though she could tell that he wasn’t ever entirely approving. Not unlike Harry.

  She gave Jamie’s back a pat, enjoying these moments of slightly sticky closeness a little too much regardless of the way he was making her reevaluate. “I need to wash up, but I’m too lazy to move.”

  “Me, too,” he said, but a minute later he got out of bed, pajamas in hand, and disappeared into the bathroom. Soon he returned with a damp washcloth and a towel. The dog was on his heels.

  “What’s this?” she asked, flicking on a second sofa lamp.

  He blinked at the sudden light, then smiled, making no explanation other than, “I know you.”

  She knew him, too. He’d often teased her about her propensity for meticulous grooming. From work to workout to bed, she sometimes took three showers a day. After sex, she was the one to bolt for the bathroom, and often even zoom out of the man’s apartment with excuses about having to get up early for work. Paul had liked that about her. He’d said she thought like a man, which he considered a compliment. Maybe she had also…at the time.

  She scoffed at herself. As if “the time” had been so long ago.

  But maybe it was. Some days, even hours, meant more than others.

  She reached for the washcloth, but Jamie demurred. “It’s late. Early, I mean. You’re tired. Let me.”

  She was sleepy. That was why she gave in, lying back and letting him take care of her. He started with her arms, sliding the damp cloth along them and then over to her breasts. He washed her there with careful attention. She propped up her heavy lids, needing to watch his face for…for…

  She didn’t know what. How could she be suspicious of his thoughtfulness?

  He remained efficient. Careful, gentle, but not lascivious, even when he lifted her legs, swiping the warm wet cloth across her inner thighs, then between them. A frisson went through her.

  He was applying the towel, drying her off. His concentration was almost total, only the dark glint in his eyes hinting at the intimacy of his actions.

  “That feels good.” She sat up and unfolded the T-shirt, slipping it over her head while he straightened the sheets and blanket, even plumped her pillow.

  She snuggled in. He switched off the lights, climbing in beside her. He was reaching for her when a heavy weight thumped onto the bed. Sally plopped her big furry body between them. Her tail waved hopefully.

  “Hello.” Marissa stroked the retriever’s velvety head.

  “She usually sleeps with me,” Jamie confessed.

  “Does that make me the other woman?”

  He settled back, one arm propped behind his head. He fingered Sally’s ear. “The other female, maybe.”

  “Sally will share, won’t you, girl?”

  The dog’s tail thumped the blanket. She was in bliss, with both of them stroking behind her ears, scratching her chin, rubbing under her collar to the ruff of silky golden hair.

  “Double petting session,” Jamie said. “What a treat.”

  “We shouldn’t be the only ones enjoying ourselves tonight.”

  “Sweet baby girl,” he crooned.

  For half a second, Marissa thought he meant her. But he was talking to the dog, working her into soporific ecstasy with his attentions.

  Marissa’s fingers stilled on the dog’s ruff. Her eyes closed. She drifted. Eventually her hand fell away. She tried to rouse herself when the dog nudged at her, but Jamie scolded, “Sally. Go to sleep.”

  The dog rose and went to the foot of the bed, turning in circles before settling at their feet.

  She reached for Jamie with her face until she found his lips. His breath was sweet with toothpaste, and that made her smile. “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “Being there for me.”

  “Where?” He nudged her with his hips. “Here?”

  “Are you trying to wake me up?”

  “Ah, no. Unless you really can’t sleep…”

  “Umm.” She loved being close to him this way, and felt comforted that they hadn’t lost the easy giv
e and take of their friendship. Her feelings were, as he’d said, enhanced. Perhaps there was a small niggling doubt that threatened to bloom into misgivings, but for now she was too lethargic to give it space to grow.

  He petted her hip. “Are you still worrying about the burglary?”

  “Not so much. But I suppose it is buzzing at the back of my mind.”

  “It’ll be okay. I’ll help you get everything straightened up, we’ll go to the police station, and the hardware store, and I’ll install window grates….”

  “Oh, joy. I don’t do well in captivity.”

  “Think of it as keeping out the crazies.”

  She was drifting away again. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  She believed him. The last thing she was aware of before she fell asleep was the sensation of Jamie kissing her forehead.

  A SHRILL, DEMANDING noise woke Marissa. She groaned and tried to bury her ears in the pillow. No go. The ringing sound wouldn’t quit.

  She cranked up her head and squinted at the light coming through the windows, then blearily focused on the clock. After 10:00 A.M.

  The first day of the rest of her life, so to speak. Her new life as Jamie’s—what? Was she now officially his girlfriend?

  She knew without a doubt that he’d say so. She, however, wasn’t so sure now that the sun, like her defenses, was up.

  The persistent noise wasn’t Jamie’s alarm. It was her cell phone.

  She sat up, vaguely remembering Jamie taking the dog out at some point, but he’d come back to bed and was a lump beside her. Sally, too, squeezed in with her big body stretched lengthwise alongside his.

  “Answer it,” the bigger lump said.

  Her bag was at the side of the bed. She pulled out the phone, checked the display, but didn’t recognize the number. Manhattan area code. “Hullo?”

  “Miss Suarez, this is Sergeant O’Connor of the NYPD”

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” She pushed her hair out of her face, rubbed her eyes. She was never good at tiptoeing through delicate morning-after situations, so she latched onto the call as a handy excuse. “You want me to come in, do the mug shot thing?”

  “That may not be necessary,” the cop said, and she could tell by the tone in his voice that he was about to tell her something bad.

  Jamie sat up. Sally rolled onto her back with her legs splayed, expecting a belly scratch. “What is it?”

  Marissa stopped formulating rationalizations in her mind and concentrated on the telephone call. She held up a finger, shushing Jamie while O’Connor spoke to her. She sputtered out a few questions, but he could give her no real answers, not yet.

  With numb fingers, she snapped the phone shut. Being with Jamie had given her a sense of security, but now she saw that she’d only pulled him into a dangerous situation they had no solution for.

  “Marissa. Tell me,” Jamie commanded with a sense of urgency she’d never heard from him before the past few days.

  Her lips had no feeling, but she heard her voice speaking through them. “That was one of the cops from last night. O’Connor. They may have found my burglar.”

  “That was fast.” Jamie thrust a hand through his rumpled hair. “But what’s wrong?”

  “Well. They want me to come in right away.”

  “For a lineup?”

  “No, a corpse-up.” That was a sick thing to say. Was she losing it?

  Her eyes darted around a room that suddenly seemed unfamiliar. The Kurt Cobain poster on the back of the door had a torn corner. She’d dog-eared half the books stacked by the armchair, but now they wore strange covers and titles. She could have sworn she’d never seen the guitar in the corner before, even though Jamie had once played “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” at the bottom of her fire escape when she’d fumbled a big case at work. Her skin was twitchy. Her tongue felt rough. Even the air she breathed tasted wrong.

  She didn’t want to look at Jamie, in case he was no longer recognizable either.

  Had she made another of her gigantic mistakes?

  She swallowed. “I guess I have to go to the morgue, to see if I can identify…” Her teeth clicked together and she swallowed the sour taste in her mouth. The break-in had been bad, but now the situation had become deadly serious, on top of infernally complicated. “To identify the body.”

  “The body?”

  With closed eyes, she reached for Jamie, hoping that she could still find comfort in his presence. Burying her face in his chest, she said, “One of the burglars is dead. They found him a block away, hidden behind a Dumpster. He was stabbed.”

  8

  “GRACIAS, ALEKSEI!” Marissa sang when the waiter arrived with a tray of margarita glasses. He smiled at her when she started passing them out before he could. “Ladies, you don’t know how much I needed this lunch.” She’d been jumpy at work that morning: wondering if Paul would show up. Fortunately it seemed he’d stayed in the Caymans for the full week.

  Three of her girlfriends, Cassandra Richards, Sylvana Ruiz-Dominguez and Trish Spencer, lifted the mango margaritas in toast to Marissa. As they’d been chain-calling since her return from the Caymans, they already knew of the recent developments. The Friday lunch date was the first time they’d had a chance to get together to hear about the details in person. Whether they were more interested in the break and enter or the encounter with Jamie was a toss-up.

  “Let’s get down to it,” Cass said, sipping her drink. “How was he?”

  Short toss. Marissa plunked her glass on the table, stalling for time. Telling of other conquests, she’d been generous with details. These were her closest friends and she trusted them. Only Trish was a less frequent lunch participant. As the staff attorney for an old-money foundation that specialized in architectural historic preservation, she often handled out-of-town negotiations and contracts.

  “Give us the dirty details,” Sylvie encouraged.

  Trish’s eyes widened. “Do we get measurements, too?” She was a mousy brunette, more reserved than the rest of them about what she called her unexciting love life. She claimed that her big brother Alex had received all the looks, charm and sex appeal in the family.

  “Measurements? Naturally.” There was no modesty about Sylvie, a Latina bombshell. She gestured with her hands, red nails flashing. “We want all the good stuff.” She was the only married woman among them. Seven years and counting, but her sex life was as spicy as they came. “I’m a circumference girl myself.”

  And she’d quite openly assured them that her husband, Tonio, lived up to her standards. That had been a conversation to remember.

  “Hmm. Let me think.” Marissa gave her friends a sly look. “You know how they say anything over six inches is just for show?”

  “Who says that?” Cass demanded.

  “Six-inchers,” Trish replied deadpan, surprising them.

  The four women laughed gaily, drawing looks from the other patrons of the Upper West Side bistro that was their usual midpoint meeting place for workday lunches. The cast of Marissa’s friends was often in flux, but she’d connected with a group of up-and-coming professionals during her first months in Manhattan and had come to rely on them to supply the family closeness she missed.

  Sylvie probed for details. “Did Jamie exceed expectations?”

  Marissa smiled. “Let’s just say that on those particular terms, he would give a good show.”

  Sylvie stirred her drink, eying Marissa behind a swoop of sleek dark hair. Her lips twitched. “And the width?”

  “I’m not going there.”

  “Aw, come on,” Cass chided. “Why so discreet?”

  Marissa refused with a head shake. “What about you? Tell us how Sam, the cop from Queens, measures up.” Cassandra, who’d always claimed to prefer style over substance, had recently become enamored with a working-class man under the most unusual circumstances—out on a ledge, trying to rescue a Hermès scarf.

  Cass pressed her palms to her ch
eeks, unusually bashful. “No comment.”

  “No fair,” Marissa said, but she understood. Part of her wanted to keep the moments with Jamie private and special. But she was also slightly unhinged by the awkwardness between them since the big event. She wanted her friends’ advice. And maybe to boast about how good it was, just a little.

  “I’m not bagging on you,” Cass explained. “Sam and I have a flirtation, that’s all.”

  “But you’re taking him to the Hamptons this weekend,” Trish pointed out.

  “That’s business.” Cass grinned. “At least for him.” Sam Mason was tracking a jewel thief who preyed on the glitterati. Cassandra planned to introduce him to the hip crowd that she’d courted and befriended in her position as a public relations assistant.

  “Let’s get back to Marissa and Jamie.” Cass looked around the table. “Although we’re not surprised they finally got together, are we, girls?”

  Sylvie nodded with agreement; she’d always been an advocate of letting chemistry overboil instead of keeping it on a back burner, simmering for a rainy day.

  But Trish wasn’t so sure. “I expected you to stay the course,” she said to Marissa. “Your mind seemed so made up that Jamie was only a friend. You even set me up with him!”

  Marissa had once persuaded her old law school pal Trish to accept a blind date with Jamie, certain they’d be a perfect match. The two had gone out, but the sparks weren’t there. Too much alike, they’d decided, both being brainy, all-around nice people. Trish had reported that Jamie had spent most of their lunch date telling outrageous Marissa stories. She’d avoided examining why, but she’d been secretly pleased.

  “I admit it. I was wrong,” Marissa said solemnly.

  Sylvie’s head snapped up. “Regrets already?”

  “No, I was wrong to insist that he was only my friend.” She sighed. “But I don’t know if making him my lover was wise either.”

  “Aw,” Cass said with concern. “Why not?”

  Marissa shrugged. “Look at my track record.”

  “Mine was no better until I met Tonio,” said Sylvie.