that he was far from relaxed.
“Coffee?” she offered, making one last attempt at hospitality. She didn’t have much, but she did have a coffeemaker, and fresh brew.
“No.”
Dare she ask? “What do you want?”
When she moistened her lips in anticipation, something dark flashed in his eyes. Almost unconsciously, she retreated, not aware of what she was doing until she felt the wall at her back. Stepping forward, he braced his left hand against the wall, beside her head. He had an interesting mouth, she thought, fixating on it. There was a small scar just above his upper lip, on the right side-a thin line, like a fingernail crescent.
He leaned in, putting his face very close to hers. “You lied.”
She was so hypnotized by his mouth that the words coming out of it didn’t immediately register. “I did?”
“You said you lived a mile away. My house is right across the street.”
“I-” She broke off, feeling breathless. “I was disoriented.”
“I called Scripps Hospital for your address, and they told me the emergency report says you gave Carly’s name when you called nine-one-one. You knew who she was. At my house, you pretended not to.”
Comprehension dawned. “Is that why you think I went in after her? To cozy up to you? Squeeze you for some cash?”
“Maybe.”
Indignation burned through her. “Screw you.”
“Okay.” His response was flat, almost nonchalant, but she knew he was serious. “How do you want it? Because I’m in the mood for hard and fast.”
It was probably the least romantic proposition she’d ever heard. And the most tempting. Ben Fortune was a very dangerous man if he could insult her and titillate her in the same breath. In her mind she told him to go to hell, but her throat closed up around the words.
His gaze locked on the curve of her lips and he hesitated, as if not quite certain how to proceed. Ironically it was she who leaned into him, pushing away from the wall and tilting her head back in brazen invitation.
And when he took her up on that sensual offer, closing the final distance between them, it was also she who panicked. She felt the full length of his hard body against hers, and just like always, she panicked. Before he had a chance to kiss her, she hooked her foot behind his ankle and shoved at his chest with enough force to send him crashing to the floor.
For a moment, he just stared at her, a stunned look on his face. Then he scanned the room for other assailants, as if she’d attacked him as part of a nefarious plot. Seeing no imminent threat, he raised himself up on his elbows. “Why did you do that?” he asked, truly bewildered.
Sonny crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at her bare toes, feeling heat creep into her cheeks. “You were crowding me.”
“I wasn’t going to force myself on you.”
Her head jerked up. “I know,” she replied. Strangely enough, her reaction had nothing to do with his status as a suspect. It was more about her past than about him.
For a moment there, she hadn’t been thinking about the case at all.
Warily, he motioned for her to stay back. “I’m going to get up and go now. No sudden moves, okay?”
“I apologize,” she said, wanting to kick herself for making such an obvious blunder. Grant would have a conniption fit if he knew she’d broken character. “Please don’t leave. Sit down for a minute. Did I hurt you?”
He laughed with more derision than mirth. “Only my pride.”
As he staggered over to her living room couch, her gaze dropped to the seat of his jeans. They fit loose, but the muscles underneath appeared very firm indeed. “Is that where you keep it?” she murmured. “In your back pocket?”
Recovering his composure with remarkable ease, he made himself comfortable on her outdated couch, taking up as much space as humanly possible. “Why don’t you check and see?” he suggested, flashing her that signature, off-center grin.
Of course, her attention was drawn to his front pockets, and the well-worn fly of his jeans. Annoyed with herself for looking, and for liking what she saw, she went behind the kitchen counter to pour a cup of coffee.
“Why are you afraid of men?”
“Why are you afraid of women?” she shot back at him.
“Who says I am?”
She could hardly admit she’d been investigating him, or that she’d seen his evade-and-retreat routine all over the beach. But she needed him to reveal something about himself, to deflect the attention away from her. “Carly told me you don’t date.”
“Carly,” he choked, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to talk about Carly.”
“Fair enough,” she said, taking a sip from her cup. “Sure you don’t want some?”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“You’re a regular goody two-shoes, aren’t you?”
He narrowed his eyes at the provocative remark. “I’m not afraid of women,” he said, studying her face. “Except maybe you.”
“You avoid them, don’t you?” She waited for his answer, sipping coffee.
When he hesitated, she wondered if he was thinking about his wife. He looked almost guilty, as if he’d just betrayed her memory. Perhaps he wasn’t as unflappable, or as innocent, as he pretended to be. “I’ve had a lot of them come on to me, on tour, at contests,” he said, staring down at his hands. “I got tired of it.”
“Tired of adoring women? That would be a first.”
“Sometimes it was more than adoring.”
“Really? Do tell,” she cooed.
“Don’t patronize me,” he replied, having no trouble reading her flippancy. “I’m not the one whose overreactions border on assault and battery.”
“You’re right. Forget I asked.”
Her casual dismissal of the subject irked him, as was her intention. “If I tell you, will you show me what you’ve got underneath that towel?”
“Not today,” she said.
His eyes roved over her body with undisguised interest. “On a publicity tour in Japan, a girl grabbed me and wouldn’t let go.”
“Grabbed you where?”
He gave her a pointed look. “Where do you think?”
She hid a smile behind her coffee cup.
“I’m kind of big over there, no pun intended, and until that day, I didn’t realize how popular I was. The crowd got a little wild, she got a good hold, some bodyguard pulled me the other way, and-” He saw her expression. “What? You think this is funny?”
She gave up trying to hold in her laughter. “Sorry. It’s not. It’s really not.”
“You’re damned right it’s not. I was out of commission for weeks.”
“No surfing?”
“I could still surf.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” He paused, considering. “Something like that happened to you?”
“My story isn’t as cute as yours.”
He shrugged, leaning back to listen anyway.
Feeling a mild panic, she glanced at the clock on the coffeemaker. “You’re sweet, but I’ve got to be somewhere in an hour.”
His eyes widened with disbelief. Obviously, he wasn’t accustomed to being summarily dismissed. She was willing to bet no woman had ever told him he was sweet, or called him a goody two-shoes, or laid him out on the ground like a pile of bricks, either.
To his credit, he was persistent. But then, a man didn’t become a world champion by heading in when the surf got rough. “Sure you don’t want to drop that towel?”
