me.”
She lifted her head to look at him. “Breakfast?”
He leaned down to kiss her.
“Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t deal with pity right now, Ben.”
“Good, because I’m not offering any.”
“What are you doing, then?”
“The same thing I’ve always been doing. Trying to get you out of your towel.”
She glanced away, gulped down her question. Then faced him and asked it anyway. “You still want me?”
He cupped her chin, ran his thumb alongside her jaw. “You amaze me. To have gone through all that, and come out like you did? I can’t fault your brother for murdering your stepfather. But it kills me to see you cry for him instead of yourself.”
She fought against his hold, tried to pull away. He wouldn’t let her. “If not for me, Rigo wouldn’t have gone after Everett,” she whispered, voicing her secret guilt.
“No,” he insisted, meeting her eyes. “None of it happened because of you.”
She’d told herself the same thing a thousand times. The words didn’t erase the pain, or the guilt, but they helped. Just having him listen helped. Knowing he still wanted her helped.
She studied him carefully. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. You think that five-minute romp satisfied me? Like you said, you can do better by yourself.” He placed a hand over his heart. “My pride as a man is at stake.”
“I didn’t mean what I said. It wasn’t that bad.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “You just laid down the gauntlet.”
“Your ego knows no bounds,” she said in wonder.
He bent his knees to pick her up, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. He carried her to the bed and tossed her down on it, not trying to be gentle, not treating her like she was damaged goods, or an object that might break.
He stared at her for a moment, undecided, then turned to his chest of drawers and put on a pair of jeans and a fresh T-shirt.
“Where are you going?”
“To get your breakfast, princess.”
Smiling, she stripped off her towel and dropped it over the edge of the bed, leaving it lying on the floor. “It’s too clean around here,” she said, stretching out on her stomach.
His eyes darkened. “Not always.”
On the balcony, Summer polished off the waffles and fresh fruit all on her own. She was wearing his fluffy white bathrobe, the one he never used, and lounging in a cushioned deck chair, the breakfast tray he’d brought her balanced on her lap.
A smile played on his lips. She looked like a pampered hotel guest, and he was happy to be of service. Carly and James had gone to an early matinee, so he was quite literally at her disposal, ready to cater to her every whim.
Ben stared out at the ocean, inordinately pleased with himself. It was another one of those perfect winter days, vivid and bright. At high tide, the sun was hot overhead, surf crashed against the rocks below, and sea gulls bantered noisily, searching for tasty snacks in the crevices after each receding wave.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, looking down at her empty plate.
“Not for food,” he returned, watching her lick a drop of syrup from her fingers. Even with her newly black, poorly dyed hair, she was stunning, and the sun loved her. It made her blue eyes brilliant and warmed her honeyed skin.
“You have a one-track mind,” she commented.
He murmured a vague agreement, his eyes traveling down her body. “Open your robe.”
“Out here?”
He glanced around. “No one’s watching.”
Smiling, she set her plate aside and rose to her feet. Leaning against the balcony’s decorative handrail, she looked out at the Pacific, the wind fluttering the edge of her robe, teasing her short hair.
Ben measured the rise of the handrail with his eyes. It was sturdier than an ordinary metal handrail, with a cap wide enough to sit on, and slats below.
He went to her. “You aren’t afraid of heights?” he asked, his mouth near her ear.
She turned, slipping her arms around his neck and letting him boost her up on the edge of the rail. “No.”
His house was at the summit of the cliff, sitting taller than the rest, and the view from this vantage point was incredible. He exhaled a deep breath, unbelievably happy to be here with her. It was almost like…
Surfing.
He stilled, feeling a wave of panic rush over him.
“Are
“No,” he said, but his voice sounded strange, far away. He couldn’t compare a woman to surfing. He
Then she pressed her lips to his, and he forgot about surfing. He forgot about everything but her hot mouth and gorgeous body, splayed before him, ripe for the taking.
He kissed his way down her silken throat to the valley between her breasts, aware of the cool breeze in his hair and the sweet salt smell of the ocean mingled with the scent of her body. He kneeled and dipped his tongue inside her navel while she moaned, threading her fingers through his hair.
Then he went lower, sliding his palms up her thighs. “You’re not going to fall, are you?”
It was a joke, but she made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. And clutched at his T-shirt, as if losing her balance.
He stood, securing his hands around her waist. It took several seconds for him to catch his breath. “Don’t scare me like that.”
“Like what?” Her voice was shaky.
“I thought you were going to fall.” He studied the drop to the rocks below, his gut clenching with apprehension. It was a very long way down. “This is kind of dangerous, now that I think about it.”
“How did your wife die?”
The question made him feel like he was about to tumble over the edge. “I’m trying to go down on you three stories up, and you want to talk about my wife?”
“Maybe this is the perfect time to talk about it,” she countered.
“Oh, yeah. Perfect.” He swallowed dryly, looking out at the dark blue Pacific. The waves weren’t epic, but they were good enough for practicing some tricky technical maneuvers. If only he could make with a quick cutback right now, to get out of this situation.
“She was murdered by a drifter,” he said evenly. “Strangled to death.”
“Oh, Ben,” she whispered, pressing her face to his shoulder.
“I found her,” he blurted, unable to help himself. He’d never been able to describe the scene to another person, not even the detective who’d taken his statement. Maybe if he could get the words out now, he could honor Olivia’s memory without being paralyzed by guilt. “She’d been drawing water for a bath, and it was the sound that first alerted me.”
She tilted her head back to look at him, and he knew his face was bleak.
“I heard the water running, so I went to look. The tub was overflowing, soaking the carpet, and she was… there.”
Summer covered her mouth with one hand.
“I pulled her out,” he muttered, still hating himself. “I didn’t realize…I was so stupid. I didn’t even see the marks on her neck.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “Later, they said she’d been alive when he left her. She had water in her lungs. He hadn’t finished the job.” A tide of emotion welled up, but he shook his head, refusing to let it overwhelm him. “I don’t know how long I held her before I started CPR. By the time the ambulance arrived, I was out of my mind. The EMTs had to physically restrain me. I broke two of her ribs.”
