She went through her workday in a daze, disturbed by images both sensual and sadistic, seeing dead cats and live men around every corner. By closing time she was completely strung out, awash with sexual frustration and reluctant to engage in another test of wills with Marc.
Sidney wasn’t used to interacting with men, period. Using her sense of touch as an investigative tool and facing the atrocities of a serial killer were scary; spending another night with Marc, terrifying.
As promised, he picked her up from work and took her home with him. He was even hospitable enough to feed her before he disappeared upstairs. While she waited for him to come back down, she munched on an apple and a peanut butter sandwich, studying her surroundings. His house was bigger than hers, his appliances newer and his furniture more expensive, but the place had no soul. It was…boring.
She sat down on his leather couch, discovering it was more comfortable than it looked, and flipped on the TV to see what channel he’d been watching. Sports. Sighing, she turned it off again, disappointed that his personal belongings were as rigid as his personality.
“Getting any ‘impressions’?”
Sidney turned at the sound of his voice, low and intimate in the darkening room. They’d arrived at just before sunset; now night was fast approaching. “I don’t try to get impressions,” she replied, offended by the sarcastic question. “They just come.”
He took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, close enough for her to smell his Old Spice. In worn jeans and an old T-shirt, he should have appeared relaxed. He didn’t. He looked ready to pounce.
Tucking her legs in, she curled one arm behind her head, getting cozy. When his eyes darkened, she suppressed a smile. Taunting him wasn’t nice, but he deserved it. “Why are you so distrustful?”
“I’m a cop.”
Pursing her mouth in concentration, she surveyed the living room once again, looking for clues with her eyes, not her hands.
“You have a cross.”
He followed her gaze to a carved wooden cross hanging near the front entrance. It was the only wall decoration he owned from what she could see. “So?”
“Faith implies trust.”
“My mother put it there,” he explained with a scowl.
Laughing, she stretched her arms over her head, feeling lazy. She hadn’t slept very well last night, but she didn’t need to be alert to pick up on his concern for his mother. She could hear it in his voice.
“You worry about her,” she murmured. “She trusts too much.”
“She spends too much,” he corrected, eyeing her derisively. “On second-rate con artists and religious scams.”
Sidney’s jaw dropped at the implication. “You think I’m a second-rate-”
“No,” he interrupted in a soft voice, his gaze lingering on her breasts. “You’re first-rate all the way.”
A war of emotions waged inside her. She was angry with him for insulting her, and with herself for wanting him anyway. The only consolation was that she knew he fought the same battle. He thought if he kept pushing her away, he wouldn’t succumb to temptation.
She also felt closer to understanding his motivations than ever before. “You believe me,” she said, stunned by the realization. “You’re mad at yourself, because you believe me, and you’re afraid I’ll scam you.”
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes, and she felt an answering jolt in her stomach. Marc was not a man who liked to be told how he felt. He was also quite adept at reasserting himself into the position of power with women.
Bracing her hands on the couch cushions underneath her, she scooted back a few inches, trying to put some space between them. Not about to let her off so easy, he grasped her bare ankle and tugged her back toward him.
Just like that, she was struck by another insight: The last time he’d been on this couch, he’d been fantasizing about her. “You…”
He leaned into her, focusing his attention on her mouth. “I what?”
She moistened her lips. “You were thinking about me. That day we went to Guajome Lake.”
“I was doing a lot more than thinking,” he said, bending his head to kiss her. He probably just wanted to shut her up, but Sidney offered no resistance. At the first touch of his mouth, every reason she had for not getting involved with a man like him just sort of…burned up. She melted against him, her mental protestations evaporating like mist. Flattening her palms on his chest, she kissed him back shyly, nibbling at his lower lip.
Her pulse throbbed with sensual awareness. Her body ached for his touch.
He pulled her over his lap, fitting his erection into the notch of her thighs, and she gasped at the intimate contact. Then she moaned, pressing herself harder against him, digging her fingernails into his shoulders and twining her tongue with his.
His hands snuck up under her shirt, splaying over her bare back.
Breaking the kiss, she drew her shirt over her head, offering him even more. Her nipples pebbled under his gaze, jutting against the soft cotton bra, and she reached back to unfasten the clasp. Letting it fall from her shoulders, she watched his face, holding her breath in anticipation.
He slid his hands up her rib cage to the undersides of her breasts. “You’re very beautiful,” he said, cradling her in his palms.
“So are you,” she sighed, brushing her lips over his once again.
At the sound of someone approaching the front door, he froze. Looking over her shoulder, Sidney watched in horror as a small, dark-haired woman walked into the room, chattering in a foreign language.
With a tiny yelp, she clutched her shirt to her chest, preparing to flee.
“Don’t you dare,” he said in her ear, holding her in place. “It’s just my mother.”
“Marcos?” she said, squinting in the dim light.
“What
“You live with your mother?” she whispered.
“No, she’s just visiting. How was bingo?” he inquired politely, as if he didn’t have a half-naked woman in his lap, hiding his erection.
“It was fine,” she said in heavily accented English, regarding Sidney with undisguised curiosity. “Who do you have there?”
Sidney blushed to the roots of her hair, visualizing the debauched picture she made. “Oh my God,” she moaned, burying her face in Marc’s shoulder.
Chapter 11
When Sidney awoke to the smell of good things cooking, she was so surprised she almost fell off the couch in a tangle of blankets.
Remembering where she was, and what she’d been doing the night before, she groaned, pulling the covers over her head in shame. She couldn’t believe Marc’s mother had walked in on them last night. Hasty introductions had been made, after which Mrs. Cruz had gone to bed early, Marc had retreated to the safety of his study to work and Sidney had spent a lonely evening trying to figure out the secrets of digital television.
Although she’d been exhausted, sleep had eluded her. Maybe it was the way Marc’s borrowed sleeveless undershirt and cotton boxer shorts felt against her bare skin, or the faint smell of his laundry soap on them. Maybe it was the cool, smooth leather of his living room couch, the comfy blanket from his closet, or the pillow off his own bed.
She lay awake for what seemed like hours, all of her senses on overdrive, her body humming with frustration. Now, the clock on the DVD player said seven-thirty. She was going to be late! The kennel didn’t open until nine, but she needed to go home and get ready first, and she still had to feed and clean. Saturday was her busiest day.
Hurrying away, she ran into Marc at the foot of the stairs. Literally.
“What’s the rush?” he asked, steadying her.
“I have to shower and change clothes,” she said, her voice throaty from lack of sleep. “I can’t go to work like
