Heat Waves

by Janelle Denison

  With a sigh, she reached out and touched the pillow beside hers and inhaled the musky, arousing scent of sex permeating the air, the sheets, her skin. Unexpected emotions rose to the surface, demanding her attention, demanding that she acknowledge the truth she'd done her best to ignore last night – that Ian had branded her in more ways than just physically.

  Despite how she might want to neatly categorize their night together as a mutually gratifying encounter, she couldn't deny that there had been an emotional intimacy between them that had superceded satisfying physical needs. Now that she was alone, now that the sensual glow had faded a bit and she could analyze the situation more objectionably, she knew they'd indulged in more than just sex. Each and every time they'd made love he'd filled her body with the very essence of his, and somehow, someway, during the night he'd touched that part of her heart she swore she wouldn't risk again. He'd most definitely rocked her very soul the few times she'd caught him looking at her with such fierce tenderness, and a longing that echoed deep inside her.

  A longing that had no business being a part of their affair.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and clutched the sheet tighter to her breasts. Emotional involvement with Ian wasn't supposed to happen, not when she didn't have the time and room in her focused life for a serious relationship – especially with a man intent on being such a huge part of her life.

  She heard a muted sound coming from the opposite end of the house, and guessed that Ian was up and about, probably making himself coffee or breakfast. The clock on the nightstand revealed that it was 9:20 a.m., and she needed to leave shortly. It was Sunday and she'd promised to visit Tori at the shelter, to check in with her and see how her week had gone. And since Tori was expecting her, there was no way she'd let the other woman down – not even to spend the day with Ian.

  Dragging herself from the warm, rumpled bed, she investigated the adjoining bathroom and found it nearly as big as her bedroom in her apartment. She stepped into the spacious, glass-enclosed shower stall, turned the tap on to hot, and moved beneath the pulsating spray. She washed her body until it was pink and glowing, then shampooed her hair and dried off with a dry fluffy towel that Ian must have left out for her. Figuring that they'd swapped enough germs last night to justify using his toothbrush, she used it to clean her teeth and ran his comb though her wet hair.

  Back in his bedroom, she peeked into his closet and took the liberty of choosing a worn, comfortable-looking chambray shirt to wear instead of the skimpy dress that was now folded neatly over the chair by the door. The man was obviously a neat-nick. As she buttoned the thigh-length shirt, she glanced around for her panties, but couldn't find them, or the slacks he'd stuffed them into last night. She did spy the extra packets of condoms on the nightstand and snagged one and slipped it into her breast pocket – just in case the mood struck.

  She grinned wryly as she padded quietly down the hall to the kitchen, wondering when she'd turned into such a sex fiend – a wanton woman who couldn't seem to get enough orgasms, who constantly craved Ian's hands on her body, his mouth on her flesh and the exquisite heat of him stroking deep, deep inside her. The answer came too easily. It was Ian's fault for addicting her to all the wondrous pleasures of lovemaking.

  She entered the bright room decorated in dark blue, white and shiny chrome, and found Ian sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee and engrossed in a section of the Sunday paper. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans, no shirt or shoes, and his damp hair curled around the nape of his neck. There was a certain intimacy about the situation that caused a fleeting pang of longing in Erica's midsection.

  Dismissing the frivolous emotion, she crossed the room toward the fresh pot of coffee on the counter beckoning to her. "Good morning," she murmured.

  "Hey, sleepyhead," he greeted, folding down a corner of the paper to look at her. A warm, private smile curved his lips. "Nice of you to finally join me."

  The man was way too refreshed and cheerful when she had not yet had her first cup of coffee to jump-start her day. "I take it you're a morning person."

  "Yep," he said, and set his paper aside. "I'm usually up at six faithfully, though I do have to admit that I stayed in bed this morning a little longer, just watching you sleep."

  She ducked her head as she felt an unaccustomed blush stain her cheeks. There was that tenderness again, and just imagining him taking such avid pleasure in watching her sleep in his bed made her entire body tingle.

  "I debated whether or not to wake you up, but figured you were exhausted after last night." The insinuation in his deep, sensual voice was unmistakable. As was the male satisfaction. "Considering how late you slept in, I'm guessing you needed the rest."

  He'd left a mug out for her, and she added cream and sugar in the cup. "Actually, with the hours I keep at the station and how late I get home, I'm not normally a morning person at all."

  "We'll have to work on that." Standing, he brought his mug to the counter, placed a warm, flirtatious kiss on the side of her neck, then nuzzled near her ear. "I think being a morning person all depends on how you wake up."

  She grinned and slanted him a sassy look. "Then it sounds to me like you left the bed too early." She wouldn't have minded waking up to Ian beside her, over her, inside her…

  He poured hot coffee into her mug, then refilled his and sweetened the brew with cream and sugar, too. "And here I was, trying to be a gentleman."

  She winked at him. "Next time, don't try so hard."

  He chuckled. "Next time I won't." He settled a hip against the counter, his gaze taking in her attire as he took a sip of his coffee. "By the way, nice outfit."

  She shifted on her feet, suddenly feeling very presumptuous wearing his clothing and uncertain of her decision to do so, though he didn't seem the least bit bothered. "I hope you don't mind that I borrowed a shirt. I didn't feel like putting my dress back on—"

  Ian placed a finger over Erica's lips to silence her, seeing the insecurities that had flashed in her eyes. "I don't mind and you don't have to explain," he said, then let his arm fall back to his side. "You look good in my shirt, but you look even better wearing nothing at all."

  She rolled her eyes, then picked up her mug for a drink. "You sure know how to flatter a woman."

  "It's the truth." Another realization struck him. Not only did she have a way of filling out his shirts, she looked great in his kitchen in the morning, and she fit perfectly into his house, his life. He kept those thoughts to himself, knowing she'd bolt if he so much as hinted at anything serious between them – despite the fact that the emotions that passed between them last night had elevated their relationship beyond a superficial affair.

  "You have a beautiful body and it's a shame that you have to cover it up at all," he continued instead, keeping the moment light and teasing. He stroked his knuckles down her smooth cheek, loving the soft feel of her skin. "Maybe I'll tie you to my bed naked and keep you there forever, purely for my sole enjoyment and pleasure. And yours, too," he added playfully.

  The corner of her mouth lifted in a sultry smile. "Umm, sounds decadent, but you're gonna have to save that particular fantasy for another night."

  He was glad to hear that there would be another night, and that she was up for more of the sexy, seductive kind of games they'd played last night. He wasn't sure what to expect of Erica this morning, given that independent streak of hers, and that's why he'd given her time alone in the bedroom, to wake up and assess the situation without him crowding her thoughts or influencing her in any way. While he knew he wanted more from Erica than a temporary affair, she was slower in coming around. Considering what he knew of her past, he understood. And he was trying like hell to be careful not to move too fast, or pressure her, or make demands that would send her bolting before she truly gave them a chance. That she was still here and sharing a cup of coffee with him was a huge concession on her part. Especially after all the "I really should goes" he'd talked her out of last night.

  "Wo
uld you like some breakfast?" he asked, stalling for as much time with her as he could.

  She shook her head. "I'm not a big breakfast eater." She saluted him with her mug. "Caffeine is my most important meal of the day."

  "Looks like you have some bad eating habits we need to work on." He sent her a look of mock disapproval as he went to the refrigerator and pulled out sliced and chilled cantaloupe for himself. "How about a bowl of cereal, or fruit? Or I can make you some eggs or pancakes—"

  "No, really, it's okay." Her gaze drifted to the clock on the wall, then back to him as he filled a bowl with the fruit. "Besides, I have to leave in about an hour."

  His stomach constricted with disappointment, but he didn't let it show. "Oh? How come?" he asked casually. He'd been hoping she'd join him for Sunday lunch at the Winslows'. "You got a hot date with someone else?" he teased.

  She wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic mug as she lifted the edge to her lips and took a sip. "Yes, a date," she confirmed, and something near the vicinity of Ian's heart faltered until she followed that up with, "but not even close to being as hot as you were last night."

  Relief poured through him, and he had to restrain himself from taking her in his arms and kissing her senseless. "Who's the lucky … person?" He didn't want to assume her "date" was a guy, though the mere thought made him feel extremely territorial.

  She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip, and he couldn't help but wonder what was going on with her. He waited patiently for her answer, remembering his motto of No Pressure. Besides, he had no claim to her, other than her luscious body. Yet. He was still working on the rest of her, and that meant trusting her completely and giving her space if she felt she needed it.

  He took his bowl of fruit to the table and sat down. "Erica, honey, if you don't want to tell me, that's fine." The lie nearly killed him.

  Another five seconds ticked by before she finally said in a soft tone of voice, "No, actually, I do want to tell you." She joined him at the table, setting her coffee cup on the surface, then met his gaze head-on. "I'm going to the Camenson Women's Shelter downtown."

  Confusion assailed him, before he was hit with a wave of concern when he realized that the Camenson Women's Shelter took in abused and battered women. He lowered the piece of cantaloupe he'd speared on his fork that had nearly reached his mouth and searched her face, looking for signs of distress. "Is everything okay, Erica?"

  Her eyes widened when she realized he was thinking the worst. "Oh, not for me," she clarified quickly. "I'm going to meet with one of the women who's been staying there. Her name is Tori, and she has an adorable little five-year-old girl named Janet who is also under the protection of the shelter. I promised Tori I'd come by today, and I don't want to stand her up or cancel."

  He nodded in understanding. Intrigued with this private side of Erica, but not at all surprised by her generosity in helping other people, he asked, "Do you go there often?"

  "Usually once a week, for about the past eight or nine months now," she said, looking into the depths of her coffee cup. "I met one of the counselors from the organization at a WTLK appearance, and she told me that they're always looking for volunteers to help out at the shelter, even if it's for emotional support. So, I went there one day and have been visiting ever since."

  He ate a bite of the succulent fruit, suspecting there was more depth to Erica's story than she was letting on. He took a guess that made his belly cramp with the possibility, but he had to ask. He had to know. "Did Paul abuse you?"

  She raised her eyes back to him, seemingly unsurprised by his question. "No, not physically. He never hit me … not the way a boyfriend abused my mother," she revealed.

  He digested that bit of information, and recalled a disturbing comment Erica had made to him that night at the station: My mother never dated gentlemen. Her mother had obviously been involved in a relationship with an abusive man. Erica had witnessed it and it had seemingly made a huge impact on her.

  He speared another piece of cantaloupe and lifted it to Erica's lips to take. "Is what happened to your mother part of the reason why you've become so involved with the women at the shelter?"

  She nodded and automatically took the piece of fruit and ate it. "When I was thirteen, my mother hooked up with a guy who made her all the kinds of promises she wanted to hear – of taking care of her, supporting her and even marrying her. She believed it all, and even moved us into Todd's apartment. But from what I remember all he did was use her as his personal maid," she said in disgust. "He'd sit in front of the TV most of the time and drink beer, and she'd wait on him hand and foot – and got verbally degraded for her efforts. But she never seemed to care because she had his attention and Todd was taking care of her. And the more he humiliated her, the harder she'd try to please him, to the point that my sister Daphne and I were forgotten most of the time. Which was just as well since I spent most of my time in my room or at a friend's house because I couldn't stand the guy."

  She drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly, her lips stretched into a grim line. "Then he started hitting her. At first it was a slap, which he'd immediately apologize for and swore it would never happen again. But of course it did, and each time his attacks would escalate and become more brutal. One time he shoved her against the wall so hard she hit her head and the force of it knocked her unconscious."

  He stared at Erica incredulously, unable to believe that any woman would put up with repeated assaults. "And your mother still stayed with him after that?"

  "Yeah, she did." She traced the rim of her coffee cup with the tip of her index finger. "At that point, she'd lost one husband and had been divorced twice, and I think she was desperate to make the relationship work, no matter that the guy was a jerk. My mother was so insecure that she couldn't see past the fact that she had a man in her life, no matter how bad he was for her."

  He nudged her lips open with another bite of cantaloupe, and she absently accepted his offering, then caught a dribble of juice from the corner of her mouth with her tongue.

  "So, what happened with this guy?" he asked, resisting the urge to lap up the sweetness with his own tongue and taste her deep inside.

  "When he started threatening me and my sister my mother finally started getting nervous. I came home from school one day and was on my way to my room when he made a rude comment to me that I ignored. He jumped up from the couch, stalked after me and grabbed my arm so tight he left a bruise."

  Ian watched a shudder ripple through her and felt a surge of fury rise within him for what she'd endured. He remained quiet, listening, wanting to know how everything had played out.

  She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, her dark brown eyes meeting his as her chin lifted a defiant fraction. "I remember feeling so frightened and scared, but I told him he was a jerk and that I wish he'd get the hell out of our lives. My mother was in the kitchen and came out to see what was going on, and I think seeing me as the recipient of Todd's violence finally made her realize just how bad things had gotten. She stepped between us and told him to let me go. And he did, only to take the brunt of his anger out on her."

  A pained look etched her expression. "He beat her up so badly, gave her a black eye, then stormed out, which he normally did. Knowing he wouldn't return until late that night, I begged my mother to leave while he was gone. At first she said no, that we had nowhere to go, and I told her I'd go anywhere so long as he wasn't there. My mother had no idea what to do. So I looked through the phone book until I found a local women's shelter, then started packing us up. As soon as my sister came home, we were out of there."

  Ian was amazed and awed at her internal strength, even at such a young age. He saw that fortitude even now, and realized how her mother's dependency on men, along with her own experience with Paul, had instigated that deep determination to make it on her own. It also made her very wary of trusting her own feelings when it came to men and relationships. Even when it came to them.

  "We stayed at the shelter for a
bout a week," she continued, "and I remember thinking that all the women and kids there had suffered some form of abuse. And it was really sad to me that we'd ended up in such a place when my memories of my real father before he died were of a kind and gentle man." She shook her head with regret. "My mother had every opportunity to turn her life around, to take control of her life and future, but she just couldn't get past that need to rely on a man. Even after we left the shelter and moved into a place of our own, she went back to her old ways with men, though to my knowledge she hasn't been in another abusive relationship, thank goodness."

  He silently echoed her sentiments and fed her another cube of melon. "Where are your mother and sister now?"

  "The last time I spoke with my mom she was engaged to husband number five. He sounds like a nice-enough guy. Maybe it'll last, maybe it won't. I've quit holding out hope that she'll marry for true happiness." She sighed and rolled her shoulders. "As for my sister, she married a wealthy older man who couldn't have children and needed a young hostess. But materialistically Daphne has everything she could ever ask for. I can't say I'd make the same kind of sacrifice."

  Ian silently mulled over her comment. He didn't think marriage should be a sacrifice at all, and agreed that if either party had to give up anything that was important to them then the union wasn't meant to be. Yet he got the distinct impression that Erica believed that matrimony meant relinquishing freedom and choices and individual interests. She'd obviously never known any differently.