He’d wanted to. God, how he’d wanted to. Her gloriously nude body, bathed in pale morning light, stretched out on his rumpled comforter, was the most arousing, tempting, heart-wrenching sight he’d ever laid eyes on.
Her back was so elegantly curved he could have spent an hour nibbling his way down her spine. Her breasts were lush and inviting, her nipples blush pink and soft in repose, her face achingly beautiful under the blanket of sleep.
As he imagined sliding his palm over her smooth belly, watching it grow round with his child, he felt his already throbbing erection become even harder.
That was when he panicked.
He was getting off on an idea that terrified him. Something was wrong with him, he’d decided. Drastically, fundamentally wrong.
He had thrown a sheet over her and fled to the kitchen, hoping whatever illness he’d come down with was temporary, and resolving not to touch her until he’d recovered. Of course, she’d teased him without mercy over breakfast. Even a cold shower couldn’t calm his raging hard-on.
What had brought him under control, finally, was her wince of discomfort as she put on her panties, reminding him how rough he’d been the night before.
He stifled an agonized groan, hating himself for hurting her.
“I called Greg,” she said. “He’s not coming.”
Shaking away his regrets, he looked over at Sidney.
“He told the girls Samantha was in the Bahamas. He doesn’t want them to worry.”
Marc tried to put his thoughts in order. “Is he aware that she’s fooling around with his business partner?”
“Maybe. She certainly knows about Elisabeth, his secretary.”
“Does she know about you?”
Sidney glanced back at Samantha, guilt and sorrow apparent on her features. “No. I never told her he-”
“He what?”
Her eyes flew to the doorway, and a strange expression crossed over her face. It was a mixture of hope and uncertainty, as if she wasn’t quite sure the recipient of her gaze returned her affection.
“Mama,” she said softly, rising to her feet.
Sidney’s mother was fine-boned and delicate, dressed in a wispy silk blouse and pencil slim trousers. So insubstantial was her appearance that her heavily coiffed hair and chunky jewelry seemed to weigh her down. Her eyes were blue and feral, like Samantha’s, but also cold. When she embraced Sidney with open arms, Marc found himself letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“I asked you to talk to Samantha,” she said when she released Sidney, her voice dripping Southern scorn. “To look out for her. Instead you left her alone and helpless all night.”
Sidney’s mouth trembled at the reprimand, but she didn’t open it to defend herself.
“Aurelia,” a man scolded, putting his hands on her thin shoulders. At six-four or taller, he was a veritable giant, yet Marc hadn’t noticed him until he’d spoken. His salt and pepper hair was cut military short, and though he had the rigid stance of a drill sergeant, his authoritative presence was muted by the tiny blond fury standing in front of him.
Her eyes narrowed on Marc, who felt her disapproval like a blast of frigid air. “Where were you?” she asked Sidney, crossing her arms over her flat chest. “What were you doing?”
“Oh, lay off, Mama,” Samantha mumbled from the hospital bed. Her lashes fluttered open then closed again. “Maybe if you’d actually had sex in the past twenty-five years, you wouldn’t begrudge the rest of us for getting it when and where we can.”
Mrs. Morrow’s lips pursed with displeasure, but she swept across the room to kiss her daughter’s ashen cheek. “Tell us what’s happened. The police thought you’d been ravaged.”
“I’m fine,” she said, accepting a sip of water. “I just, um, fell and hit my head climbing in through Sidney’s window. I guess I was out for a while.”
Everyone in the room knew she was lying. “There, there, dear,” Mrs. Morrow said, smoothing her hair. “Sidney thought you might want some time away from it all. We know a nice place near Dana Point where you can get all the rest and rehabilitation you need-”
“Rehab?” Samantha said, straightening. “I’m not going to rehab.” She turned to Sidney, changing from protective older sister to vindictive brat in a split second. “Why did you call them? I had a little accident and you’ve got to blow it all out of proportion, alerting the police like it’s a national freaking emergency! Did you blab to Greg, too?”
Sidney’s eyes filled with tears.
Samantha let her head fall back on the pillow. “Oh God, Sidney, why don’t you just sign over custody of my kids, and have me committed, while you’re at it?”
“Now, Samantha, you don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to,” Aurelia soothed. “Everything will be just fine.”
“My head hurts,” she whined. “Can’t they give me something?”
“I’ll see what I can do, dear.”
“And get everyone out of here,” she said, her eyes shooting daggers at Sidney. “Can’t I recover in peace?”
While Mrs. Morrow hurried away to procure Samantha more drugs, the last thing she needed, everyone else shuffled out of the room. Sidney stood in the hallway, her slim shoulders shaking with emotion. Although Marc normally ran the other way when he saw a woman’s tears, he couldn’t stand the sight of her in pain.
But when he stepped forward to comfort her, Sidney walked past him, right into her father’s arms. “Oh, Daddy,” she said, pressing her face to the front of his shirt. Mr. Morrow patted her back gently, avoiding Marc’s eyes and pretending he hadn’t noticed Sidney had thrown him over.
Instead of relief, he felt an astonishingly sharp stab of pain at her rejection. Feeling like an unwanted intruder, and a fool, Marc turned and walked away.
After Samantha was released, against the doctor’s recommendation, she talked Sidney into sharing a cab with her from the hospital to Las Olas, a down-and-dirty beach bar less than a mile from Sidney’s house.
Samantha had parked her SUV there the previous evening.
“You walked to my house from here?” Sidney asked, relieved her sister hadn’t been driving last night, on top of everything else.
She shrugged, disengaging the car alarm and climbing into the driver’s seat.
“Who were you with?”
“Some guy. What’s it to you?”
“I’m afraid for you, Sam. If you keep doing this, you won’t have to worry about losing the girls. They’ll be losing you.”
Samantha groaned, looking both ways before she pulled out onto Pacific Coast Highway. “Give me a break, okay? I’m not exactly proud of myself.”
“Maybe you should think about rehab, like the doctor said.”
“Please, Sid. I have a splitting headache. I can’t think about anything right now.” She grabbed a pair of designer sunglasses from the visor to shade her bloodshot eyes.
“Let’s go to that place in Dana Point. I’ll drive. You won’t have to think, or worry, or punish yourself anymore.”
Samantha gritted her teeth and pressed her foot on the gas, a not-so-subtle hint for Sidney to shut up. Taking the threat seriously, Sidney waited until Samantha pulled over at a local convenience store to continue the conversation. “Did Marc tell you about the break-in?”
“I did
“Whoever did left a dead cat on my bed. Tied it up and tortured it first.”
“Are you serious?” she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
“I think it was the same guy who’s out there killing women.” She cast Samantha a worried glance. “When I saw you lying there, bleeding…I thought he’d gotten to you, too.”
“Maybe he did,” she whispered.
Sidney’s stomach turned over. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t remember who I was with. I don’t remember anything.” Beneath her sunglasses, tears rolled down her gaunt cheeks. She stuck out a wavering hand. “Here, see for yourself.”
