Into the Night

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t doubt it. I want you naked, right now. I want to see your tattoo.”

  He pulled her back down to kiss her, his hands busy again with the zipper at the back of her dress, checking to see if he could push it even farther down.

  As far as naked went, her panties could go, along with his clothes. But Joan wanted to keep her dress right where it was, covering her thighs—and the tiny rose she’d had tattooed on her left hip in a moment of drunken madness. Of course he’d remembered that from her so-called file. Didn’t it figure?

  As she kissed him, she slipped her fingers inside the waist-band of his pants in an attempt to distract him.

  It worked, particularly when she slid her hand all the way down, inside his boxers, and wrapped her fingers around him.

  He made a noise, deep in his throat, and he stopped fooling with her zipper long enough to hastily unfasten his pants. She helped, and his penis sprang free. It burst onto the scene in such a happy, joyful way that she had to laugh.

  And then, because even with her somewhat limited experience she knew that laughing at the very first sight of a lover’s equipment was not necessarily the most romantic thing to do, she took him into her mouth.

  From the sounds he made, all was forgiven.

  But damn, that belt buckle was still jabbing her. His pants had to go.

  “I’ll be back,” she said in her best Ah-nold imitation as she smiled up at him, giving him one last lick for good measure. He looked pretty damn happy and joyful about that himself.

  She pulled both his pants and his boxers down his legs as he kicked off his shoes and yanked his shirt over his head.

  And then, except for his socks, he was a naked, naked, naked man.

  And why a man like this ever wore clothes was a mystery.

  He sat up, still trying to pull off her dress, but she moved her backside out of range of his hands, taking off his socks to make the picture perfect.

  And perfect, he was.

  Suntanned skin, with springy golden hair on his arms and legs and chest. Muscles, muscles, and more muscles. Tousled wavy hair, hot blue eyes, square jaw, movie star worthy cheekbones, and that little smile that played about his perfect lips and lit his face with genuine and unabashed amusement and pleasure. And then, to top it all off, an Empire State Building of an erection that confirmed the desire that burned in his eyes.

  Even his toes were lovely.

  “Come here,” he said.

  “I was going to get a condom,” she said. And on the way back in from the bathroom, she was going to turn off the bedroom light.

  “I put some in my jacket pocket,” he said, holding one of the little wrapped squares out on his palm. “Hope springs eternal and all that.”

  He reached for her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back onto the bed with him, kissing her mouth, long and sweet and hard. Her bare breasts were against his naked chest.

  “This is what I want,” he whispered. “I want to be skin to skin with you.”

  “I do, too, but I want to turn off the light first,” she admitted. “I’m not as perfect as you. My ass is big. And my hips—”

  He laughed. “Your ass is sexy and I love every inch of your hips, baby. I’ve been dying to get my hands on you for days now.”

  “Careful,” she warned. “If you call me baby, I just might have to call you Junior.” She looked down between them. “Or maybe not.”

  He laughed, tickling her, and she shrieked, pulling away from him, leaping off the bed.

  He followed, and she backed away.

  “Aha,” he said. He was trying to keep a straight face and failing rather miserably. “So you do want to play bad cop and naughty nun—I knew you were secretly kinky, DaCosta.”

  She laughed. “Naughty nun?”

  Muldoon laughed, too.

  Dear God, was it really possible that a man who looked like Muldoon was actually capable of not taking himself seriously, of having some completely silly fun?

  Yes, apparently it was. If she were smart, she’d start figuring out some way to keep him around for longer than the next few weeks. Oh, and wasn’t it a complete mistake to start thinking about that? They lived about as far apart as two people could and both still be Americans. They were both completely devoted to their careers.

  And that wasn’t even taking into consideration the fact that Michael Muldoon was not a long-term man. He couldn’t possibly be. If she weren’t careful, she was going to get emotionally pulverized. If she didn’t stay in control…

  But, God, look at him, smiling at her like that. His laughter had turned once more into heat as he gazed at her bare breasts and…

  She realized that her dress was hanging down around her hips, and she hiked it up to cover her stomach. She didn’t have the same kind of belly button action that Britney Spears had going.

  “Wait,” Muldoon said. “I want to show you something, okay?”

  He gently pulled her across the room and turned her around. She was now facing the nearly full-length mirror that hung over the low dresser on the opposite wall from the bed. And, God, there she was, naked breasts and messy hair and all.

  Muldoon moved so that he was directly behind her, his arms around her.

  “Look how sexy you are,” he said. He touched her breasts, her throat, her torso, his big hands sweeping across her body.

  Yes, her hair was messy, but it was a sexy kind of messy. And when he touched her like that, his hands warm and his fingers slightly rough, her mouth opened slightly, and eyes half closed and…

  “You’re incredibly beautiful,” he whispered. “If you really want the light off, we can turn it off. But I’d prefer to see this. To see you. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah,” she breathed. At that point, anything he asked would have been okay with her.

  “Let it go,” he murmured, tugging at her dress. She opened her fingers, hypnotized by both the sight and sensation of his hands moving across her skin, down the soft curve of her stomach, across her hips. Across that tiny rose tattoo. And lower.

  As she watched in the mirror, he dipped one hand beneath the edge of her dress, beneath the edge of her panties and…

  “Oh, yeah,” he breathed into her ear, pressing himself against her rear end as he filled her with his fingers. “You make me crazy, Joan. You’re so hot.”

  And what do you know? She actually was. Tummy and hips and all, when Muldoon touched her, when he looked at her like that, she was steaming hot.

  “I love your legs,” he said as he pushed her dress down her thighs, and the silky fabric pooled at her feet. He trailed his fingers along the insides of her thighs, stopping just short of touching her intimately again. She was leaning back against him slightly, breathing hard, her nipples taut and at attention. She watched herself in the mirror as she opened her legs slightly for him, in a silent invitation.

  He met her eyes in the mirror and smiled—and pushed her panties down her legs. “Do it again,” he whispered.

  She did. Oh, my.

  And then…oh, my. She felt him against her, behind her, hot and thick, as he slid his hand down her stomach and touched her. He kept going, reaching between her legs to guide himself to her, even as he tipped her slightly forward.

  Slowly, so slowly, he moved, filling her a little bit farther with each stroke, as he kept touching her.

  “Condom,” she remembered, even though she wasn’t quite sure that she knew her own name.

  “It’s on.” His voice sounded funny, too. “God, you’re tight.”

  He kept moving, slowly, slowly, his fingers creating the friction that their position made impossible.

  But she wanted more, and she was ready for him, reaching behind her to pull him more closely to her, to fill her completely.

  “Oh, yeah,” he breathed, his eyes locked on hers in the mirror. “Oh, baby. Oh, man, that’s a little too nice. Hang on a sec, Joan, will you?”

  She wouldn’t. She didn’t want to. She was about to
explode, and she wanted him exploding with her.

  “Don’t stop,” she said, moving against him. “Oh, please…”

  And there, in the mirror, Joan could have watched herself fly apart. Instead she watched Muldoon as he watched her come, and the look on his face—satisfaction and desire and pure, hot, raw male admiration—was one she knew she’d remember for the rest of her life.

  And when he met her gaze, he came, too. Even if she hadn’t felt the tightening and sudden surge of his body, she would have known just from looking into his eyes.

  Then there they were, breathing hard, eyes and body still locked together.

  Muldoon smiled at her. “I hope I broke you of your irrational fear of mirrors and bright lights.”

  Joan laughed. “Was that what that was? A selfless humanitarian act for the good of mankind?”

  He laughed, too. “No, it was entirely selfish. I happen to enjoy an occasional mirror or two.” He pulled her back with him to collapse on the bed. “God, my knees. You just aren’t quite tall enough.” He turned his head to look at her. “For that, I mean. Not that I’m complaining.” He smiled and reached over to touch her cheek.

  This was where, if her life were like one of the romance novels she loved to read, he would confess that he loved her.

  His smile was so sweet, and his eyes were so warm and filled with emotion.

  He moistened his lips slightly before he spoke. Cleared his throat. Here it came…

  “I’m starving. Want to get room service?”

  Joan had to laugh at herself. It had been more than twenty years since she was a ten-year-old, and she still struggled with her Snow White complex. Some day her prince might come, indeed, but if he did, honey, the truth was, he was going to have to run to keep up with her. He was going to have to hunt her down, because she wasn’t sitting at home waiting for him to show. And he was going to have to be willing to abdicate the crown to be with her.

  Muldoon was a prince, for sure, but she just couldn’t see him doing that. As much as she might want him to.

  Oh, but don’t do this, Joan. Don’t make this into something that it’s not. Don’t start making any plans that include Mike Muldoon.

  “I hear they have a mean fish chowder here,” he told her, a devilish light in his eyes.

  Enjoy this for what it was. Enjoy him. “Kiss me first,” she said.

  “With pleasure,” he whispered, pulling her more completely into his arms.

  He kissed her slowly and quite thoroughly, his mouth hot and sweet.

  Just like the man himself.

  NINETEEN

  SAM WAS HUNGOVER.

  Mary Lou knew from just one glance when he walked into the kitchen. She’d seen more than her share of hangovers starting back when she was Haley’s age.

  “When did you get home?” she asked.

  He winced—she was talking too loudly. Well, screw him. He had no right to go out and get drunk with God knows who and then come crawling back home at some ungodly hour, after last call, no doubt.

  “A little after two,” he said.

  Last call, indeed.

  Sam Starrett was a very good-looking man—tall and lean with blue eyes and brown hair that streaked golden when he spent a lot of time out in the sun. His face wasn’t pretty-boy handsome like a movie star’s, though. Instead, he had prominent features that were going to be called craggy when he got a lot older. But regardless of that, he was one of those men who was going to be just as attractive at sixty as he was at thirty-something.

  Because no matter how old he got, he was still going to have that smile.

  It was a killer—a combination of genuine amusement with life and a sly awareness that he was, indeed, the King of the World. It had slayed her completely the first time he’d aimed it in her direction.

  But he wasn’t smiling right now.

  “You stink,” she told him sharply. “Go take a shower and brush your teeth. And shave while you’re at it. I’m getting Haley up in a few minutes and I don’t want her seeing you looking like human garbage.”

  Well, that surprised the shit out of him. Just a few days ago, she would’ve quietly gotten him some painkillers and a big glass of water, and tippy-toed around, talking in hushed tones, treating him like royalty. She would have ignored the fact that she’d already made a pot of oatmeal. She would have woken up Haley and then taken her out of the house for some high-calorie fast-food crappola breakfast so her little girl wouldn’t have to see her father at his worst.

  But that wasn’t fair—why should she and Haley be the ones always to accommodate him?

  What was he going to do? Move out? Tell her he wanted a divorce?

  And so what if he did? She loaded dirty dishes into the dishwasher with a rattle and bang that made him wince again. She’d be better off without him.

  “What time do you have to be at work?” he asked, opening the cabinet where they kept the aspirin and shaking more than he should be taking into his hand. He swallowed all of the pills at once, without any water.

  “Same time that I always have to be there,” she told him. “I always work the same hours.” It felt good to allow herself to be pissed at him. “I’m mad at you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Sam nodded, so serious. “Yeah, you have a right to be. I’ve been…I don’t know. Phoning it in, I guess, for a long time.” He took a deep breath. “I know you’ve been really unhappy, Mary Lou, and I have been, too. We need to find some time to sit down and talk.”

  Mary Lou felt faint. Oh, shit. He wanted a divorce. He was going to ask her for a divorce. What had she done?

  “I’m not unhappy,” she said. “I’m very happy. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. That was wrong of me and I apologize. Do you want some oatmeal? Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get you a bowl?”

  He caught her arm as she was reaching up into the cabinet. “Stop,” he said. “I’m the one who should be apologizing, not you. I’m going to go shower, like you said. I have to be on base in just a few minutes—I don’t have time to talk right now. In fact, the next few days are going to be hectic. I just thought that maybe after this President’s thing is over, we can sit down and be honest with each other.”

  “We don’t need to do that,” she said. “Really, Sam, I’ll try harder—”

  “Jesus, Mary Lou…” He rubbed his forehead, rubbed his entire face. “Will you just do me one little favor, please?”

  “Of course. You know all you ever have to do is ask. I’d do anything for you, Sam. Anything,” she stressed. “I know it must bother you not to have beer in the house, and well, I’ve been thinking, I’ve been doing so well that I’d be fine if—”

  “Stop,” he said. “Christ, just stop and listen.”

  She shut her mouth, trying to hide the fact that her lower lip was trembling. He was going to leave her. She just knew it. And she wouldn’t be better off without him. She’d be alone, just like her mother had been, with a baby and bills she wouldn’t be able to pay and—

  “I don’t want alcohol in this house. Under no circumstances whatsoever. Is that clear?”

  She nodded.

  “Now. All I’m asking you to do is to spend some time over the next few days thinking. Think about what you want out of life. Think about what makes you happy—truly happy. I know it has a lot to do with Haley—I think you’re a wonderful mother, I really do. But look beyond her, if you can, and try to think about what you want. Can you try to do that?”

  Mary Lou couldn’t keep her mouth shut any longer. “This is about Alyssa Locke, isn’t it?”

  He sighed. “No, it isn’t. I’m taking a shower.”

  “She doesn’t want you—she’s with someone else now. You told me that yourself!” She followed him out of the kitchen and into the hall. Her voice was shrill but she couldn’t seem to make herself shut up.

  From the other end of the house, Haley woke up and started to cry.

  “Yeah, see, but you don’t want me, either,” Sam
said, his voice surprisingly gentle, his eyes not unkind. “Not really.”

  “You are so wrong!”

  “Am I?” Sam asked as he went into the bathroom. “Maybe you should think some about that, as well. I’m going to be late and you are, too, if you don’t get going.”

  He shut the door.

  Heart racing, Mary Lou went in to Haley. She had to stop and sit down, putting her head between her knees to regain her equilibrium, before she got the little girl out of the crib.

  She hadn’t been this panicked, this uncertain about her future since those unsettling weeks before her wedding day.

  Husaam slid down in the driver’s seat so that Mary Lou wouldn’t see him as she loaded the kid into her car.

  She looked upset.

  Of course, she looked upset most mornings—who wouldn’t, with that asshole Sam Starrett for a husband?

  And yet Mary Lou was no prize. He’d thought she might be—he’d actually started to genuinely like her. She was pretty and stacked and none too bright. He didn’t like women who were rocket scientists. But then…

  He still couldn’t get over the way she’d so casually pulled up her shirt and fed Haley out in the churchyard, where anyone could see.

  That was no way for a married woman to behave. If she were his wife, he’d have her beaten for indecency. She had no right to go and flash the world. No right at all.

  And what was with this man who was following her around? This wasn’t the first time he’d seen this loser with Mary Lou. Clearly, he was after something.

  He’d had him checked out, but background checks could be falsified. He himself knew that quite well.

  Still, the information he’d found seemed to be real.

  Ihbraham Rahman, born in Saudi Arabia—not too far from the city where Husaam had spent much of his childhood—had became an American citizen in 1990. He owned a share in a Lincoln dealership in Anaheim with three younger brothers, two cousins, and an uncle—none of whom were even remotely tied to any terrorist activity. And why should they be? They’d embraced the American Dream and were making it pay off.

  Not that there wasn’t strife in their lives. Apparently Ihbraham had quit his job at the dealership a few years back, ditched a fiancée who was the only daughter of the ailing owner of a nearby BMW dealer, and ran off to reinvent himself as a landscaper, courtesy of the twelve-step program.