ashamed of herself for enjoying the show, she stood up, aware of her body brushing against the legs of Ben’s corduroys as she straightened.
Returning to their initial positions created another problem. With the fly of his pants fitted snugly against her bottom, the growing pressure was difficult to ignore. Especially considering what was going on beyond the closet door.
“What are they doing?” he whispered, resting his hand on her hip, his warm breath fanning her ear.
She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed dryly, another wave of heat washing over her. In the bedroom, the mattress creaked and moaned. Sheila was a panter-wouldn’t you know it?-and as Tom grunted and heaved on top of her she grew louder and louder, gasping “Uh! Uh! Uh!” with each rhythmic thrust.
“Oh,” Ben said, getting the picture.
After what seemed like an eternity, the noisy couple quieted.
“Are they done?”
Sonny bent forward to look. And jerked her head back up abruptly, eyes scalded by the scene. Tom Bruebaker was pretty adventurous, for an older guy.
“Well?” he asked.
She shook her head, cheeks burning. It was depraved, of course, to get turned on in a situation like this. But the front of Ben’s body was pressed to the back of hers, and it was dark, and there was nothing to look at or think about or listen to…except hot, dirty sex.
Either he was picking up on her vibe or the ambience was getting to him, too, because he was fully aroused. The length of his erection felt like a branding iron against her bottom. Desire pulsed between her legs, as thick and heavy as warm honey.
She shifted, trying to ease her discomfort.
“Don’t,” he warned quietly.
She clenched her hands into fists, wanting to push her bottom against him, to take his hand and put it everywhere she hurt, to cover his fingertips with hers while he touched her aching nipples and stroked her sensitive cleft.
Torturing him, and herself, she bent to look through the keyhole again.
After being trapped in the closet, listening to the Bruebakers get it on for an infernal amount of time, Ben should have felt relieved to be free. Tom finally got up and left Sheila, passed out from drink and sexual satisfaction, in the guest room bed.
Ben and Sonny were able to sneak away, undetected.
The distance from the Bruebakers’ swank mansion to his house was short. He knew better than to pull into the small public parking lot off Nautilus, the one facing Shores Beach, but that was what he did.
He couldn’t go home like this, leaving so many things between them unresolved. She hadn’t spoken a word since they got in the SUV. Neither had he.
Cutting the engine, he rested his forearm on the steering wheel and stared out at the Pacific. It was early- afternoon glass-smooth sets, perfect fetch, excellent conditions.
He arched a glance at Sonny, in no mood for surfing, for once. Avoiding his gaze, she crossed her arms over her breasts. Her pale eyes glittered in the sun, and her chest rose and fell with each soft breath.
She was still aroused. So was he.
His reaction had nothing to do with the Bruebakers’ sexfest. The last thing he wanted to picture-or hear-was Tom giving it to Sheila. He supposed it was the danger of being caught, the tawdriness of the encounter, and the unintentional voyeurism. Not to mention the tempting proximity of her mouth and the feel of her tight little ass against his hard-on.
“You called Sheila three times the night Lisette disappeared?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“To tell her what happened.”
Her gaze cut to his, dropped down to the front of his pants, and skittered away. “Did you talk to her?”
“I couldn’t get through.”
When she moistened her lips, he almost groaned aloud. “I can’t do this,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.
“Do what?”
“You know what,” she whispered.
He shifted, stretching out in his seat, but it didn’t help. The breeze coming in from the open windows wasn’t exactly cooling his ardor, either.
“I have too much to lose. Maybe everything.”
The way she said those words, and the wistful tone of her voice, made one point very clear to him. He knew law enforcement officials had rigid standards for professionalism. Despite what her boss had implied the day he caught them in bed together, she hadn’t been sleeping with him for information.
“Grant was covering for you,” he said, straightening. “Won’t he continue to?” She kept her eyes downcast, revealing nothing, and he felt some of the pain of her betrayal ease away. “I won’t tell,” he promised. “No one has to know about us.”
She smiled sadly, shaking her head.
“That son of a bitch bodybuilder will,” he guessed, remembering Grant’s muscle-bound sidekick. “Why does he have it out for you?”
“I beat him up a few times,” she said, sniffling.
He returned her smile. “So you’ll be in trouble when you go back to…where do you live?”
“I rent an apartment in Richmond. But I’m hardly ever there.”
Ben was a world traveler, but he’d never been to Virginia. As far as he knew, the surfing was no good there. “Maybe you’ll get fired, and have to move back here.”
She slanted a puzzled glance his way.
Right. What was he thinking? He didn’t want to get involved with a woman like her. She was too volatile, too physical, too willing to put her life on the line. Taking risks was her job. She was…exactly like he used to be.
He studied her prim headband and cute little sweater, wishing the circumstances were different. In the demure outfit, she looked somewhere between fierce and adorable. And like always, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. “If you’re going to get fired anyway,” he said, releasing his seat belt, “you might as well make it worth your while.”
When he reached across her lap to do the same for her, she sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t want to be your latest diversion, Ben,” she said, stilling his hand. “A temporary, meaningless replacement for Olivia.”
He stared at his hand on her hip, feeling a dark storm of emotions wage inside him. He couldn’t lie and say he hadn’t thought of Olivia today. Being at Lisette’s wake had brought back a thousand memories, some painful, most bittersweet.
He was finally letting go of her, and that hurt almost as much as losing her the first time.
“I’m not looking for a replacement for Olivia,” he admitted. “What I’ve always wanted is to have her back.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she tried to push away from him.
“Wait,” he said. “If I had the choice, right now, to have her in my arms or to hold on to you, I’d choose you.” He cleared his throat, feeling anger and sadness building there. “And I hate you for that. I hate you for taking her away from me.”
Her mouth softened with understanding. She lifted her hand to the nape of his neck and threaded her fingers through the short hair there, soothing him, enflaming him. One touch from her and his body was on instant alert, as ready as he’d been in the Bruebakers’ closet. He didn’t want this good-bye to mean too much but he couldn’t bear for it to mean too little, so when he lowered his head to kiss her, he tried to hold his desire in check.
When he swept his tongue over her bottom lip, she made an urgent sound and opened her mouth, not just allowing his entry but actively seeking it. She tasted so good he wanted to fall upon her like a savage beast. Impeded more by bucket seats than self-control, he pulled her into his lap, fumbling with a lever that moved the steering wheel back a few inches.
She squirmed on him, her bottom teasing his erection, and he groaned into her mouth. He was so intent on
