Riptide (A Dangerous Hearts Romance)

by Deborah Camp

  Shadow fingered the lavender satin spread and amusement flitted over his face. “Very pretty.”

  “It’s new.”

  He glanced at her, his eyes alight with gentle teasing. “I know.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Whitney laughed again, thinking she would scream in the next few seconds if he didn’t do something.

  With a flick of his wrist, Shadow swept the spread back to reveal violet sheets. He laughed softly to himself. “This is a very feminine bed.”

  Whitney felt her face grow warm with embarrassment. “There’re two other bedrooms—”

  “Come here, you.” Shadow grabbed her hands and fell backward across the bed, pulling Whitney off-balance so that she tumbled on top of him. He laughed up at her shocked expression as his hands folded over the small of her back to keep her against him. “Kiss me, Whitney, and put me out of my misery.”

  She smiled, grateful to him for breaking through the tense atmosphere they’d created. She gave him a quick, hard kiss, marveling at the way he could change her mood in a split second from nervous anticipation to playful familiarity. Oh, this man is magic, she thought, kissing him again and again. Her playful pecks on his mouth and across his eyelids and down the bridge of his nose made him laugh and she laughed with him, wondering now why she had been so reluctant a moment ago. She wanted him. Of that, she had no doubt. And he wanted her.

  Shadow’s hands moved to her head, holding it still so that his mouth could move over hers. His mouth was like rough velvet against hers as his lips moved to embrace her lower lip and suck gently on it. Whitney melted under the assault, her body fitting perfectly on top of his while his hands moved back down from her face to cradle her hips. His fingers walked in place, gathering her skirt and hiking it up until his hands flattened against the back of her thighs.

  Pushing herself up a little, Whitney wedged her hands between them and unbuttoned Shadow’s shirt. She peeled away the fabric and feasted on the sight of his darkly furred skin. A yearning that would not be denied burst through her, and Whitney dipped her head to press feathery light kisses across his chest. Her hands moved lower, splaying across his taut stomach.

  Shadow grasped her shoulders and, in a swift, fluid movement, pushed her to her back. Stretching out on his side, he propped his head in one hand while his other hand moved down her cheek to the loose bow at her neck. With slow deliberation, he untied the bow and his lean fingers sought out the buttons on her blouse.

  As he unbuttoned each one he chanted, “She will, she won’t, she will, she won’t, she will—she won’t!” He frowned when Whitney laughed with delight. “Who designed this blouse?”

  Whitney kissed his pouting lips. “She will,” she assured him, curving one hand behind his neck and pulling him down to her waiting mouth.

  The tip of his tongue touched her lips and parted them before his mouth covered hers. Like a rosebud seeking sunlight, Whitney opened up to him and moaned with pleasure when his tongue invaded the deep recesses within. When his hand cupped her breast, Whitney arched up, driving her body closer to the pleasure of Shadow’s touch.

  Wanting more of him, Whitney felt herself slipping under the power of this man. She helped him, moving this way and that, as he removed her blouse and bra. Satisfaction was her reward when his warm mouth and sandpapery tongue glided over her breast. The tip of his tongue was like a wizard’s wand; flicking and fluttering across the center of her breasts until Whitney writhed in sweet agony.

  Shadow lifted his mouth from her breasts and looked at them with undisguised adoration. A smile tipped up one corner of his mouth.

  “Strawberries and cream,” he whispered. “That’s what you remind me of.” His lips sandwiched one rosy nipple and tugged tenderly.

  “Oh, Shadow!” Whitney buried her hands in his hair, holding him to her as wave after wave of exquisite pleasure swept over her.

  She heard the rasping release of her skirt’s zipper and could only sigh expansively when Shadow tugged the skirt down her hips. She stretched, loving this simmering passion, then watched with open curiosity as Shadow stood before her and undressed. It occurred to her that he had seen her without clothing, so he had a certain advantage. She discarded any notion of appearing coy or modest, preferring to let him see how beautiful he was to her.

  When he stood before her, all teak-colored except for a pale band of skin around his hips, Whitney propped herself up on her elbows and unabashedly soaked in his masculine form. His wide shoulders formed an attractive V to a waist that tapered with firm muscle, and there was only a slight thinning of the ebony hair on his stomach before the hair grew thick and curly again across his pelvis. His thighs were narrow trunks, flexing with cords of muscle as he propped a knee on the bed. Then his hands spanned her waist and pulled her sideways until she was lying with her head cushioned on a pillow. He pulled down the top sheet, bunching it against the footboard, before he came back to her.

  Expertly, he removed the last bit of lace from her hips before he gathered her to him in a possessive embrace. Whitney kissed the side of his neck and the tip of her tongue slipped across his skin. His hair was vibrant and silky to her touch as she whispered his name in a lover’s chant. She could feel herself beginning the climb to the summit and she knew instinctively that this summit would be different from the others she had known because this man was special in a way no other man had been to her. He touched a secret part of her heart, making her want to give more and take less.

  She released a short cry when he obliterated the final separation of their bodies and his mouth came down upon hers, hard and driving. His tongue parried with hers, proving he was the more experienced and agile in this contest of wills. She surrendered, arching her back and urging him to claim his prize.

  And claim her, he did. Plunging deeper, he set a blistering tempo that brought Whitney’s passion to a blazing fury. She held fast to his shoulders, her head whipping from side to side as Shadow pushed her toward the shimmering peak. Her body tensed only to convulse into quaking tremors when she reached the summit.

  Dizzy, she opened her eyes and was transfixed by the face above her. Cords strained against his neck, branching downward to his shoulders, and his eyes were shut tightly. Whitney’s hands moved up to caress his arms. A mysterious smile curved his lips and he opened his eyes, staring deeply into hers.

  “Oh, honey, look what you’ve done to me,” he whispered, then his head jerked back and he shuddered into her.

  Touched by his tender observation, Whitney held him close as he began to relax. He cuddled her close and shifted to his side, bringing her with him as he bestowed gentle, lazy kisses on her forehead and eyelids.

  “I wasn’t complaining,” he murmured in her ear. “I was just pointing out the obvious.”

  “I know,” she whispered back as a lethargic feeling stole through her. “You’re beautiful. Did you know that?”

  He chuckled and gave a little shake of his head. “Next you’re going to say I’m sweet.”

  “You are,” she said, laughing. “You’re very sweet.”

  “And you’re handsome and virile.”

  Still laughing, Whitney snuggled closer to him. “We make a fine couple, don’t we?”

  “The best, honey. The very best.”

  Whitney smiled and fell into a dream.

  Chapter Five

  “Good morning!” Whitney greeted Shadow huskily. She rubbed sleep from her eyes and opened them again to watch Shadow tear around her bedroom in a frantic search for his clothes. “Good morning?” she tried again, but still received no more than a cursory glance.

  Whitney brushed her hair back over her shoulders and a lazy smile touched her mouth while her gaze moved lovingly across Shadow’s brawny chest and sinewy arms. After sharing the essence of intimacy with him last night, she was eager to burrow into his embrace again. She clutched the sheet tightly and her body tingled as sensuous memories washed over her. With a start, she realized he was dressing and she frowned with
annoyance.

  Standing before her in the harsh morning light, a preoccupied scowl on his face as he pulled on his trousers, it was difficult for Whitney to equate him with the man who had delivered tender kisses to her passion-swollen lips and breasts.

  Whitney sat up in bed and her sleep-hazed mind sharpened. He wasn’t really leaving, was he? “I’ll make some coffee,” she said, hearing the hopeful note in her voice.

  “No, I don’t have time,” he said, breathlessly. “I’ve got less than an hour to get to my apartment, change clothes, and go to work.” He glanced at his wristwatch and groaned, “I’m going to be late.”

  “Call and tell them you overslept.”

  “Whitney, I don’t work for myself like you do,” he reminded her as he sat on the bed and leaned forward to look under it. “My superiors don’t understand excuses like, ‘I slept with a lovely woman last night and she forgot to set the alarm clock.’ Ah-ha!” He pulled his shoes from beneath the bed and stuck his feet into them. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Suit yourself.” Whitney turned her head and stared at the rectangle of sky outside her window. He was a man of few words this morning, she thought. All the wrong words. What had become of the poet who had lulled her to sleep with whispered endearments?

  “What’s wrong? Did I hurt your feelings?”

  She looked at him again, frowning. “It just seems as if you’re leaving the scene of a crime! You didn’t even kiss me good morning!” She waved one of her hands weakly. “Go on. Go to your job.”

  He leaned across the bed and kissed her soundly on the cheek. “Good morning. I’ll see you later.”

  “Later, as in days, weeks or months?” she called after him.

  “As in hours,” his voice floated to her just before the door slammed behind him.

  Discontent wafted through Whitney as she left the bed and went into the adjoining bathroom to shower. Last night’s romance seemed to have evaporated with the morning light, she mused, adjusting the water temperature before she stepped into the corner shower stall. She jerked the shower curtain into place and lifted her face to receive a blast of stinging water. Realizing she was alone in the house, she showered quickly. Thanks to Alfred Hitchcock, there wasn’t a woman alive who didn’t feel vulnerable in a noisy shower, Whitney thought with a frustrated sigh as she toweled herself dry.

  Deciding against her morning jog, she dressed in jeans and a boat-neck pullover, then went through the house to check all her locks and bolts while the coffee perked. She tried to shake off her discontent, but it persisted. It would have been so lovely to wake up in Shadow’s arms this morning and continue what they had begun last night, she thought as she poured herself a cup of fresh coffee. Adding a measure of cream, she stirred slowly while she relived her passion-filled hours with Shadow. Now that she was alone again, that inkling of fear rose in her once more, making her jump nervously when the doorbell rang.

  She approached the front door with trepidation and peeked through the peephole. A self-derisive laugh tumbled from her when she saw Selma.

  “Come in, Selma,” Whitney said as she opened the door. “How are you this morning?”

  “Can’t complain.” Selma marched past her toward the kitchen, but came to a halt in the dining room. “My, my! It looks as if you entertained last night.”

  Whitney glanced at the dining room table, but the aftermath of the carefully prepared meal made her feel even more gloomy and she walked stoically past the table to the kitchen.

  “I had a friend over for dinner,” she called over her shoulder. “Could you clean off the table first, please?”

  “Sure thing. Did you cook?”

  Whitney retrieved her coffee and entered the dining room again where Selma was stacking the soiled dishes. “Hampton helped me,” Whitney answered. “I’m going out on the deck.”

  Selma wrinkled her nose. “Lobster! I thought I smelled something fishy when I walked in.”

  Whitney laughed at Selma’s repulsed expression before leaving the cleaning woman and escaping outside. Lounging in one of the chairs, Whitney gazed out at the ocean’s vista. Gray clouds were moving in with the promise of rain, and Whitney could smell the changing weather, just as she could sense the change within herself. She was no longer merely attracted to Shadow. She was emotionally involved with him, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he felt about her now. He’d been in such a hurry to leave this morning that she had her doubts about how emotionally tied he might be to her.

  The wind chimes clattered and tinkled as a brisk breeze raced across the deck. Whitney lifted a hand and pushed back her tousled hair, thinking how silky Shadow’s hair had felt last night. She smiled to herself, recalling the scent of Old Spice and the sight of baby’s breath on the sand …

  “Good morning, neighbor!”

  Whitney whipped her head around in the direction of the sunny voice, and smiled when she saw Ashley. “Good morning, Ashley. Have you been jogging?”

  “Yes.” Ashley bounded up the steps and fell into the other chair. “I’m not used to it. I guess I don’t get enough exercise.” Her green eyes glinted slyly. “Speaking of jogging… I’ve noticed that you and that detective have been running together lately.”

  Whitney examined the rolling waves again, staunchly ignoring Ashley’s comment.

  “Well?” Ashley persisted after a few silent moments. “Are you two serious or just playing around?”

  Still gazing at the sea, Whitney chose her words carefully. “We’re seeing each other.”

  “Oh.” Ashley stretched and gave a little sigh. “His car was parked here all night.”

  Holding tight to her temper, Whitney managed a calm tone. “Ashley, I won’t comment on you keeping time with that actor who has a brain the size of a pea, if you keep your mouth shut about Shadow.”

  Ashley’s mouth fell open and her emerald eyes widened. She started to say something, then clamped her teeth together and faced the ocean. Whitney glanced at her neighbor’s heightened color and stubbornly kept her apology from spilling out. If Ashley insisted on sticking her nose in other people’s business, then she had better learn to accept the consequences, Whitney told herself. Besides, she didn’t want to talk to Ashley about Shadow. Her feelings toward him were too fragile. Close scrutiny or an ill-timed remark might shatter them into a million pieces.

  After a few tense minutes Ashley seemed to pull herself from her frowning regard of the seascape. “Have you had any other break-ins?”

  Whitney turned her face away not wanting Ashley to read anything in her expression. “No. Have you?”

  “No,” Ashley said on a sigh as she flexed her shapely legs and propped her heels on the railing. “The reporters, say that the Intruder only picks on people with famous parents. My parents are famous, in a way.”

  “They are?” Whitney asked.

  “Yes,” Ashley said haughtily, and her chin tipped up with pride. “My father is president of a bank in Miami and my mother is a principal at a Miami high school.”

  Whitney tried to keep the smile from her lips. “Ashley, I don’t think they’re really famous.”

  “The Intruder thinks so. He broke into my house, didn’t he?” Ashley’s gaze challenged Whitney. “Tall-walker still doesn’t think the Intruder was in my home, does he?”

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about the case to me very much.”

  Ashley lifted herself from the chair and faced Whitney. “I saw the fingerprinting team here, Whitney.” Her mouth gathered into a pretty pout. “Why don’t you trust me? Why are you lying to me? I thought we were friends.”

  Ashamed of herself and irritated by Ashley’s show of injury, Whitney shifted her attention from the blond’s misty green eyes to the comfort of the ocean. “I don’t want to talk about the Intruder. It gives me the creeps.”

  “I’m sorry!” Ashley dropped to her haunches in front of Whitney. “You poor thing. I bet you’re scared to death! I know I am!”

  “I�
�m not scared,” Whitney stated firmly, more for herself than for Ashley. “I’m just tired of hearing about the Intruder!”

  “Isn’t everybody?” Ashley laughed softly. “That’s why I’ve decided to throw a party.”

  “A party?”

  “Yes! I’ve signed to do a made-for-television movie and I start on it next week. I think it’s a perfect time to throw a Malibu bash to celebrate my new movie and to get our minds off of this Malibu Intruder crap. What do you think about Saturday night? Will you come?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Ashley …” Whitney folded her hands in her lap. A party wasn’t what she needed right now, she thought. She needed to see Shadow. She needed to hear him say that what they had shared last night had been as special for him as it had been for her.

  “Whitney, please? It’s just what you need.” Ashley pushed herself to her feet again, her arms held out wide. “You need to break out of this dark, little world and discover the big, bright universe!” Her eyes took on a dreamy quality, then she shook her head and her eyes cleared. “That’s a line from my new movie. Nice, huh?”

  Despite herself, Whitney laughed. “Very nice.” Pinned by Ashley’s hopeful expression, Whitney shrugged in defeat. “Okay. I accept your invitation. Saturday night. What time?”

  “Ten, and we’ll party until dawn!” Ashley giggled, a carefully controlled giggle suitable for a well-schooled actress. “I’m going home right now to get the ball rolling.” She skipped down the steps, all gaiety and blithe spirits. “Don’t forget to bring that detective with you. Nobody comes to my parties stag!”

  Whitney pressed her lips together in mute frustration. Ashley Summer had a one-track mind. She had decided that Whitney and Shadow were an “item” and she would not be swayed from that opinion.

  Were they an item? Whitney wondered. If they were, was there a future in it? She closed her eyes on a soft moan. It was useless to wonder about these things when only Shadow could answer them for her. Was she running headlong into another hopeless involvement with a man who wouldn’t commit himself to her? Had she been too impulsive again, jumping without thinking into the arms of a man who had made no promises?