Watching him, she nodded and slowly got out of the car.
* * *
A WOMAN COULDN’T walk on the beach in high heels. At least not one who’d only been practicing in them for a couple of weeks. Stupid of her to have made the suggestion.
Figuring barefoot was better than naked—which was what she could become if she took him upstairs—Chantel took off her heels and lost a couple of inches. She felt little next to Colin.
And...naked.
Until she’d taken on Johnson, Chantel didn’t leave her house without hiking boots. “All the better to kick them with, my dear,” she used to joke to Jill, purposely misquoting Little Red Riding Hood. A kid shouldn’t have to be afraid of a wolf in a grandma’s clothes.
Glass of wine in one hand and shoes in the other, she stepped forward and cool sand inserted itself between her toes, caressing her feet in a way that was invigorating. Not relaxing.
Colin slid his arm through hers. She could feel heat emanating from him in the cool night air. Making her think of his stomach against hers. Him lying on top of her. The hair on his chest. And...
All things that were awesome and sexy and natural and so not right.
“Where’s Julie tonight?” She gulped her wine. When the glass was empty the walk would be done. The night would be over.
“Home. Where she usually is at night.”
“I’ve been thinking about her a lot.” Good, Chantel—both Chantels. Keep the focus where it needs to be. “I’d like to help her.”
She was being completely sincere and also saying something bound to keep him interested in her.
But for how long, if she completely rejected his sexual advances?
Sex was a much easier commodity to come by these days. A guy like Colin could find it just about anywhere he wanted it.
She couldn’t have sex for the job. Even she had boundaries.
“I’m open to any suggestions,” he told her. But he said no more, asked no more. Walking with him on the deserted beach, their voices silent while life raged around them—the waves against the shore in tune with their heartbeats—Chantel fought the most dangerous battle of her life.
She wasn’t going to sleep with him.
But she couldn’t just send him off, either. Couldn’t risk him losing interest. Not with beautiful, vibrant Julie passing her life at home alone. Not with Leslie and Ryder possibly running from a demon in their own home. And in their hearts. Not when, if what she suspected was right, the two cases were joined by the same wrongdoing. Not when by fixing one she could fix the other.
And what would have happened if neither Leslie nor Julie existed? That insidious inner voice taunted her.
Then she’d already be upstairs with him. The answer came swift and sure in the moonlight with a bit of wine in her.
An answer that allowed her to convince herself that she wasn’t using him or whoring herself when she said, “You want to take the rest of the bottle upstairs?”
She wasn’t going to have sex with him.
But they could play with fire for a little while. Until the wine was gone.
* * *
HE TRIED NOT to pay too much attention to her room. But he was interested in every single thing about the luxury space that said she’d been there—the desk chair pulled out slightly from the desk, the closet doors firmly closed after she’d accessed them to dress that evening.
The soft scent of whatever it was she wore on her skin. Nothing he was immediately familiar with. But something that drew him to her every time he got a whiff. More so than the finest wine.
Or the best steaks on the grill.
He was hungry for her in a way food and drink were never going to assuage.
She left the lights low, turning on only one, by the couch and chairs that faced a sliding glass door. She’d pulled the sheers, but not before he’d seen the balcony beyond.
“You’ve got a beach view,” he said. Because something had to be said. They’d been quiet for too long.
“Yes.”
She didn’t sit. Or fidget. She just stood there, her empty glass on the dresser beside her. Her hesitancy—and maybe a tiny lack of confidence—turned him on more than the cleavage showing at the top of that sexy black dress.
Something became quite clear to him then. Chantel Johnson was not a woman you hurried.
Or had casual sex with.
Even if their liaison only lasted weeks, it would mean something to her. It was his duty to be aware of that.
“Ready for another glass?” he asked. The one he’d had on the beach had been his first for the night. He could easily afford a couple more. Even if he found himself behind the wheel of his car before morning.
“Y-yes, I’d like that.” Picking up her glass, she approached him, hips swaying like a model’s as she traversed the carpet in the heels she’d put back on the moment they’d left the sand.
He was looking forward to taking them off again. And putting his tongue where the grains of sand had been.
First, though, with his own glass filled, he sat with her on the sofa, facing out to the ocean hiding in darkness.
He knew it was there, though. Living and breathing. Swelling. Rushing. Occasionally dancing. Grappling. And sometimes killing, too.
“Do you remember the first time you ever saw the ocean?” he asked, ready to be patient. Content to sit with her in the intimacy of her room. Learn more about her.
Her life was an aphrodisiac.
As were the blond curls that moved along her shoulders when she shook her head. “My family used to go to the ocean for holidays when I was little,” she said. And then blinked as though she’d forgotten herself.
He wanted to know what she’d remembered, and why the memory seemed to cause her unrest.
“What about when you were older?”
Another shake of the head was his only response.
“What?” she asked, looking at him over the top of the wineglass at her lips.
“I didn’t say anything.” Not out loud at any rate. Did she have any idea how incredibly beautiful she was? And how different from every other woman he’d ever known?
“You had a look... You were frowning.”
He smiled. “The way you answered my questions...made me wonder if you’re growing-up years weren’t as blessed as I’d assumed they were.”
Her shrug told him more than she probably knew. “Money doesn’t buy happiness,” was all she said. But it was enough.
That left him certain that he wanted to make her happy.
Whatever it took.
* * *
SHE WASN’T DRUNK. Wasn’t going to get drunk. She also wasn’t driving home that night. She didn’t work in the morning, but she had to be dressed as Johnson and at a committee meeting by noon the next day. She’d read the script.
She would see Leslie Morrison then, too.
Chantel took another sip of wine. Content that Colin seemed happy just to sit with her. This was nice. Sitting with someone who really seemed to like being with her. Someone she really liked.
Weird. Different.
“You’re very neat.” He was looking around them at the table and desktops that were devoid of clutter. Because Johnson wasn’t real.
But he’d have seen much of the same in her little apartment, as well.
“I’ve always been that way,” she told him, relieved to be able to share a bit of herself with him in complete honesty. “I think I was born neat. My mother used to tell everyone that, even as a toddler, I picked up all of my toys and put them all away.”
“I expected to see a desk with a laptop in the middle of it surrounded by papers and folders. Maybe even a research book or two.”
He’d given her the perfect opening—the perfect explanati
on. Making a mental note to run home for her laptop, she shook her head with ease. “I clean up every day. More so here than I did at home.” She felt free to expand now. “With the housekeeping staff in and out, I don’t want to risk losing notes or having them reordered from being picked up for dusting.”
His nod, the admiring glance he bounced off her chest, told her all was well.
The shields she normally wore around her—as well as the one she wore on her uniform every day—seemed to fade a little. Leaving her...a little exposed. But also...a little free.
“Would you like more wine?” he asked, holding up the bottle.
“Only if you’ll split it with me.” They both had a bit left in their glasses. She wondered if the place had a hot tub. And then, reminding herself that it had three, wished she’d thought to buy Johnson a swimsuit.
It was January. Hadn’t dawned on her that she might need one.
“What are you thinking?” He was grinning at her.
“That a soak in hot jets would feel heavenly right now.” Or damned good, depending on whether Johnson or Harris was doing the thinking.
“I have a hot tub on the patio off my bedroom.” His gaze looked bedroom-esque. And she was picturing him naked.
He knew it, too. His sexy grin told her so. Or told her that he hoped she was picturing him naked.
Colin Fairbanks was clearly a man with confidence.
She was definitely a woman turned on by confident, powerful men.
Men who were generally turned off by buff, capable, strong women.
She wasn’t that woman right now. No, tonight she was Chantel Johnson. A woman of class. A woman with dignity.
A woman so hot for the man sitting beside her that she was getting wet where she was pretty sure a real lady didn’t.
* * *
THE WINE WAS GONE. When he glanced toward the wet bar in her room and thought about looking to see what it was stocked with, Colin knew it was time to go home. A man who grabbed too much in the moment usually lost the treasure in the long run.
His father used to say that. Colin didn’t completely agree. Sometimes you had to grab a chance when you had it—but tonight he saw the wisdom in those words.
Standing, he pulled her up off the couch, keeping hold of her hand as he walked toward the door.
“Can I pick you up for the meeting tomorrow?” he asked. Like the lovesick pup he was rapidly becoming.
“I’d like that.”
There was a new softness about her. Brought on by wine and the lateness of the night? By his company?
One that would be gone again when he came by for her the next day?
He didn’t look as they passed her king-size bed with massive fluffed-up pillows and a beige-and-maroon comforter that would be as soft as it was luxurious. The details had been embedded in his brain from his first glance at the room.
“Is eleven-thirty okay?” He faced her at the door.
She stared up at him, her eyes open and speaking to him. “Yes. You’ll bring Julie, too?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t pull his gaze from her lips. One kiss good-night... That’s all he would ask, or allow. One kiss. To state intention. To be clear that they were more than friends.
A down payment on the future.
“I enjoyed myself tonight. Thanks for inviting me.”
She’d have been on the list if she’d been in town when the invites went out. Lucky for him she hadn’t been in town yet. “I’d like to be the one to accompany you, to be your exclusive escort, the entire time you’re in town.” The words hadn’t been planned.
But more than hearing himself making a statement he’d never come close to making before—the whole exclusive thing—Colin’s tension while he awaited her response took him most by surprise.
Those full, moist lips tilted in a tiny bit of a smile. “I’d like that,” she said. But he hadn’t needed the words. Her look had told him what he’d been waiting to hear.
Lowering his lips to hers was the next natural course of events. Colin probably couldn’t have fought nature if he’d tried.
He didn’t try.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
YOU HAVE TO keep him interested. The thought scored across Chantel’s mind as Colin’s lips lowered toward hers. She wasn’t just letting him kiss her because she was hungry for the physical connection. She was serving those she was out to protect.
The action was justified.
It was the last coherent thought she could remember Harris having. His touch was not consuming. He didn’t take or demand. He just touched his lips to hers, almost tenderly.
Yet, to her battered senses, his kiss seemed to be saying hello. Not good-night.
She increased the pressure of her lips against his, opening her mouth. And when he responded, she found his tongue with hers. She was aggressive. Too aggressive.
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her up against his body so tightly she could feel the buttons of his coat pressing into her flesh. And the hard length of him against her pelvis.
She slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, never breaking contact with his lips, pulling his head more firmly against her. Running her fingers through the thick hair she’d been wanting to touch for more than a week.
Shoving his tongue deeper into her mouth, he groaned. She stumbled backward but didn’t fall. His arms held her up, and he moved until the backs of her knees were against the bed. His hand came around then, cupping her breast, and he broke their kiss to look her straight in the eye.
“I need you,” he said. “To see you naked, to touch every inch of you and come inside you.”
His words started an inferno raging through her. A sensation she didn’t recognize. Couldn’t control.
“Are you okay with that?” he asked while his thumb rubbed against her nipple, which had hardened beneath her dress and the thin piece of nylon bra.
Mesmerized—maybe as much by the intensity of his gaze as by the crazy way her body was reacting to his touch—she could only nod.
Pleasing him became paramount.
She’d never, ever even come close to feeling like he was making her feel. Like she was missing something elemental, something vital, something only he could give her. Getting it was the only thing that mattered.
She reached for the lapels of his jacket to hold herself upright. And then to shove them down over his shoulders. The heavy fabric dropped to the floor. She felt its weight on the top of one foot.
Adrenaline rushed through her, driving her to get what her body needed and to give him anything he wanted.
As she fumbled with his buttons, he unzipped her dress. Cool air met the heated flesh of her back, and she shivered.
His breath uneven, he slid the dress off her shoulders. Caressing her skin. And then stood there, watching, as slowly, she was able to get his buttons to give way. He wasn’t rushing her. Wasn’t letting impatience interfere.
He could have done it himself. But he didn’t. And her flame shot up another notch.
Shaking, she struggled to hold on. And to find a way to let go. Tears sprang to her eyes for no apparent reason.
He froze. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she told him, working at the rest of those buttons.
“You’re crying.”
She shook her head and smiled. “I’m not a crier. Can’t remember the last time I cried. I just... This... You’re so... I don’t know.”
With a tender touch, he drew his fingers down her jaw from ear to chin. “I think I know,” he told her. “It’s the same for me.”
“You’re going to cry, too?” She chuckled, trying to find her center, to come back to a bit of herself. And freed the last of his buttons.
She was still shaking. But there was no stopping
this...this...power that had a hold of her.
Colin set the pace. A slow, adoring, absorbing pace. Time passed, but she had no idea how little. Or how much. Noises sounded—the room’s heat coming on, her breathing. His. The whisper of clothing leaving skin. Little sounds that weaved in and out of the sensations bombarding her. The taste of wine on his tongue as he kissed her again. The musky scent of his cologne mixing with sex.
It overwhelmed her. Deliciously.
With her still standing on the floor at the end of the mattress, he laid down before her. Completely naked. Open to her perusal. And peruse she did. From the smattering of dark hair across his chest, the small line of it drawn down his stomach, to the darker curls at the bed of his penis.
“Strip for me,” he said, his gaze shaded as he looked up at her. His grin was devilish and fun and sexy.
Reaching behind her, she unclipped her bra, then slowly, one strap at a time, drew it down her arms and, finally, away from her breasts. They’d always seemed a little big to her. That night, exposed to him, they made her happy.
Her panties were next. She’d paid attention to them only because the lady in the secondhand shop where she’d found the designer clothes had told her that she’d need them so that panty lines didn’t show when she wore certain dresses.
The black lace thong followed her bra to the floor.
“Come to me,” Colin said, watching her intently, yet not making her feel as though she was on display. There was no discomfort in disrobing for him.
One knee at a time, Chantel climbed onto the end of the bed, making her way toward him.
“You really are the most incredibly beautiful woman.” His whisper was broken and reverent. A sound Chantel knew she was never going to forget as long as she lived.
He gave her a glimpse of what he seemed to see. A slim blonde with curves in all the right places. A woman who turned men’s heads. A woman worth wanting.
The insight changed forever her perception of herself.
In Colin’s presence, she felt like that woman. When she was with him, the tough-girl tomboy she’d always been completely flew the coop.
Love by Association Page 14