She smiled, forcing herself to return her attention to the game. Across the field, the scoreboard now read twelve-to-two.
“Will you look at that,” she sighed, forcing Cal’s dumb-ass threats out of her head. “With only two innings to go, there is no way the Mariners can win.”
Nate swallowed a gulp of beer. Wiping the foam from his mouth, he said, “You’d be surprised. We’ve come from farther behind than this.”
“Not this time.”
“Bet?”
She looked at the scoreboard again. Two innings? Ten runs to catch up, eleven to win? Candy from a baby.
“Bet.”
He switched his beer to his left hand and offered her his right. She took it, sealing the wager.
“If I win…” she drawled, then corrected herself. “I mean, when I win, we go back to that French restaurant and you order the escargot, and eat…every…bite.”
He thought about it for a moment, then swallowed another gulp of beer.
“Okay,” he said. “Fair enough. And if I win…”
“Which you won’t,” she assured him, then smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes for good measure.
He pursed his lips and seemed to assess her for a moment.
At the base of her spine, a sort of trill, fizz, tickle sensation began making its way through her body to the parts that hadn’t trilled, fizzed, or tickled for quite some time.
Leaning toward her, he moved her hair aside and softly nuzzled her neck just below her ear. He suckled her earlobe, then bit it. “Did I mention I have one of those old-fashioned wrought-iron beds?”
Tabitha’s eyes drifted closed and she caught her breath. Every muscle in her body wimped out on her.
“If I win…” he whispered slowly, his breath sending frissons of excitement all across her flesh. “When I win…you…naked…on that bed…stretched out…arms above your head, holding on tight…while I fuck you every which way from Sunday.”
There is no joy in Mudville…
Tabitha let the words trickle through her brain like alphabet sludge. The crowd’s moans and groans still pealed inside her head like a death knell as she and Nate made their way with the surge of dejected fans out to the parking lot.
No escargot. No every bite. Not tonight.
She swallowed. How had they done it? How in the hell had they done it?
When the Mariners tied the Giants’ twelve runs at the top of the ninth, Tabitha had an unexpected urge to leap to her feet and shout, Go Mariners! But she had refrained. Why give Nate more sexual ammunition than he was already carrying? Two innings later, Seattle finally brought home the winning run.
Unable to think past the erotic mental image Nate had created in her head, she walked along next to him, her hand captured in his. Every time she blinked, she could see herself stretched out on that bed, see him bending over her, feel him inside her.
If she let go of his hand, she’d certainly sink to the asphalt in a weak-kneed heap.
When they reached his car, he gently pushed her against it while he took her mouth. With her body arched backward, he curled over her, capturing her, completely enveloping her with his powerful sexual energy. Against her lower belly, she felt his erection. He shifted, rolling his hips into hers, and she made a high-pitched keening sound.
“I’m not going to hold you to it,” he breathed against her ear. “I want to, but I’m not going to.”
If she could have formed some kind of coherent sentence, she would have, but as it was, she was too paralyzed with pleasure to utter a single word.
“The bet,” he murmured. “It was mostly a joke. We don’t have to…I mean, I’m not going to hold you to it.” He kissed her again, and her body went limp.
“That’s very sweet,” she panted against his open mouth. “Gentlemanly. Considerate. Fair. I appreciate it.”
He backed away and opened her door. With one final kiss, he said softly, “Get in. I’ll take you home.”
Sliding her arms around his neck, she pulled herself close, and when he bent his head to kiss her again, she whispered, “Hold me to it. Please.”
He froze, searching her eyes. “You sure? Because if you’re not sure—”
She stopped him with a kiss that told him in no uncertain terms just how sure she was.
Somehow, they got into the car. Fastened seat belts. Cranked the ignition…moved through intersections, by stop signs, people walking…green light, yellow light, red light. It all became a slow blur to her. Can’t this damn Accord move any faster?
Every nerve ending she had was on edge. Her body ached with anticipation. Her nipples felt sensitive under her clothing and she couldn’t get past what it would feel like when he finally sucked on them.
Finally, he parked in front of a house. She heard a car door slam.
Then he was there, opening her door, helping her out, helping her into his arms.
His mouth was warm, open, on hers. His hands moved inside her jacket, under her sweater. First his thumbs found her taut bare nipples, then his mouth, then his tongue, and she nearly collapsed from the pleasure.
The Seattle Mariners. She sighed. Oh, God, what a great baseball team…
Nate pulled away a fraction, swiping her nipple with his rough tongue. “Listen,” he panted, running his hand down her belly to her crotch. “I’m only going to offer one more time. It was a silly bet. I’ll stop. We don’t have to—”
“Yeswedo.” The words came out on a rushed exhale. When his finger slid between her legs, she caught her breath. “Don’t stop,” she softly squeaked. “God, don’t stop…”
Somehow, they reached his second-floor apartment. Somehow, they got inside. Inside. Deep inside her body, she pulsed with exquisite need.
In the darkness of his apartment, he guided her to the bedroom. He pulled at her clothes, and they were gone. She felt his hands on her naked skin, touching her, not gently, not roughly, but everywhere, and she wanted to scream.
Slowly, he lowered her to the bed, pushing her legs wide, licking her…long strokes, wet and hot. A sigh formed in her throat, but before it could escape, he licked her again, and she arched her back, so filled with pleasure she couldn’t make a sound.
“Nate…” His name was a prayer on her lips, softly imploring as she begged for release.
He moved up, kneading her breasts with his strong, warm fingers, exciting her nipples into peaks. His mouth covered one, and he suckled her, teasing the tight berry with his tongue, then his teeth, until she moaned.
She was totally naked, while he was still clothed. Why that made her feel sexier, she couldn’t have said, but her palms began to dampen in anticipation of touching his skin.
Her fingers tugged at his clothing and in moments he was naked and cradled between her thighs. She ran her hands over his muscular body, his smooth, supple skin. Against her belly, she felt the ridges of his abs, the tease of hair around his navel, and lower.
Gliding her hands along the flat plane of his torso, she found the silky, damp tip of his penis, slid her hand down the shaft, curled her fingers around it…so long, so hard, so slick.
She positioned him against her swollen flesh. Warm pools of sensation flooded her body and she became restless.
“Put it in me,” she breathed, tilting her hips, giving him pleasure, giving pleasure to herself. “I want to feel it, feel you. Hurry…”
He slapped at the nightstand. A water glass crashed to the floor. A magazine went flying. A moment later, sheathed, he pushed into her and she closed tightly around him.
Ohgod-ohgod-ohgod…
At first, he did nothing. His breathing was labored, as though he were holding himself in rigid control. She felt the movement of his muscles and bones against her body, and she ached for him to move inside her.
Then he did, torturing her further, pleasuring the swollen nub with his rubbing, urging. She thrust and rolled her hips, and he groaned.
Nuzzling and kissing her neck, he breathed, “Tabby…God, you’re so beautiful…”
>
She wanted to weep at the depth of emotion she heard in those words. Raising her arm, she cupped his skull in her hand, holding him to her while she closed her eyes and did nothing but feel the two of them together, treasuring the closeness she hadn’t felt for so awfully long.
Turning her brain off, she focused on the slide of him, in and out, bringing her closer, and closer still.
He urged her legs wider, placing kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, between her breasts. Capturing a nipple in his mouth, he suckled it, bit it until the pleasure was too much and she began to buck. Her own anguished cries mixed with his harsh pants. She tilted her hips…there. Ah, there.
Reaching above her head, she stretched out her naked body, arching her back, and grasping the iron rails of the headboard.
Fuck me, she chanted inside her head. Fuck me every which way from Sunday…
He slammed into her again, the sound of his breathing harsh and rasping. Pulling back, he thrust in, this time more slowly, so slowly she felt every inch, staying her orgasm, keeping it out of her reach until she wanted to cry in frustration.
Tears filled her eyes—tears of elation, tears of passion, of excruciating anticipation.
Suddenly it was too much, and her body burst with sweet delight, the rush of pleasure flooding her, easing her taut muscles, bathing her flesh in a sensual froth as she clenched around him, and clenched again.
He grunted a satisfied sound, then shifted position, grasping the globes of her bottom in his large hands, and pulled her hard into him. His mouth open over hers, his tongue thrust deeply inside, he came, and she felt it, hot and thick inside the thin sheath.
Tabitha wrapped her arms around him and hung on, never wanting to let go, never wanting this to end, this connection, this closeness that she had never felt with another human being on the planet—not psychically, not physically, not emotionally.
Their bodies pressed close, their hearts slammed against each other’s, their stomachs moved in and out, together in time, their sweat intermingled. Sex was messy. Sex was glorious.
For a while, neither of them spoke, but only breathed, and recovered, and savored.
The bones of his hips rubbed the inside of her thigh as she wrapped her legs around his calves. He collapsed against her, still trying to catch his breath.
She kissed his damp brow, ran her fingers lightly through his soft hair. He reached his hand up and slid his thumb along her jaw. They grinned into each other’s eyes.
They laughed then, too sated to speak, amazed by what happened between them, its power, its glory.
He kissed her again, tenderly, and she tasted salt on his mouth, and she felt the curve of his smile against her lips.
There should be words to define this elusive and staggering moment, she thought. Words like love and forever and you and me, and she wanted to say them. For the first time in memory, she wanted to say them so badly, holding them back hurt her throat.
Abruptly, he lifted his head and his brow creased. Seeing the little tear that escaped to trickle along her cheek, he searched her eyes. Tears could be good; tears could be bad. Not asking which, he simply kissed it away, his exquisite tenderness making her want to cry all over again.
Breaking the kiss, he said, “What’s that noise?”
Me, beating on your heart with my doubled fists, begging to be let in…
Pushing himself up on his elbows, he snarled, “Shit. It’s the front door.”
On the table next to the bed, his cell phone chimed “Can You Feel the Love Tonight.”
“Sorry,” he said to her, and she could see in his eyes that he meant it. Making a grab for the cell, he thumbed the button. “I can’t talk now, Ethan. Somebody’s at the d—”
The banging on the front door ceased.
“All right,” he growled. “Give me a minute.”
Slamming the cell down on the nightstand, he pushed off of her and swiveled into a sitting position, glorious in his nakedness. Reaching for the blanket that had fallen to the floor, he covered her with it, then leaned down and gave her a kiss.
As he pulled away, Tabitha’s sensual world closed in around her and collapsed. The heat cooled, the colors dulled, the words she had wanted so desperately to say faded like invisible ink on a page.
“What is it?” she asked, as reality slowly reclaimed her and began gnawing its way into her head. She could breathe now, and with each breath, common sense returned.
“Wait here until I see what’s going on,” Nate said as he stood and pulled on his crumpled jeans. “It’s my brother. He’s standing outside my front door, and God only knows why, but I have to let him in.”
Chapter 16
For a man to dream of his brother, means trouble ahead.
FOLKLORE
Flinging the front door open, Nate confronted Ethan.
“I gave at the office.”
Ethan returned his cell phone to the holster on his belt and pushed past Nate into the living room. “This couldn’t wait,” he said, casting glances at the furniture and décor, most of which had come from flea markets and garage sales. “I see the SFPD still doesn’t pay its detectives a living wage. Why don’t you get a real job, little brother?”
“Careful, or you’ll hurt my decorator’s feelings.”
Spying the instrument case standing in the corner by the TV, Ethan said, “You still torture the trumpet?”
“When the spirit moves me and the neighbors are on vacation. What about you? Still bringing tears to people’s eyes with your—”
“Nope. Gave it up years ago.”
Closing the door, Nate yanked the chain on the lamp next to the crammed bookcase, illuminating his brother’s ever-present scowl. “It’s one in the morning, Ethan.” And his blood still hummed from sex with Tabitha. Somewhere between the bed and the front door, his body had recovered, and he was ready for round two. More than ready. Why in the hell had Ethan chosen now to—
“Mom’s okay, right? And Andie? Nothing’s happened—”
“They’re fine.” Ethan turned to face him. “I read Griffin’s diary.”
Nate’s brows shot up. “How in the fuck did you get a copy—”
“Her mother said she was with you,” Ethan interrupted. “I want to talk to her.”
Before he could stop himself, Nate cast a quick glance at the closed bedroom door.
Ethan’s gaze followed, then he turned and walked to the bay window that faced the street. “Get her.”
Nate’s blood heated a few degrees. “You can talk to her tomorrow, during normal business hours. Now get the hell out of here.”
Over his shoulder, Ethan said, “If you don’t go get her, I will.”
Nate made a move toward Ethan at the same time the bedroom door opened. Both men swiveled to face Tabitha.
“No need to resort to fisticuffs, gentlemen. Ethan, is it? How can I help you?”
Nate moved quickly to put himself between her and his brother. She’d gotten dressed and smoothed her hair, but there was no mistaking the soft gleam in her eye, the flush of her skin, her plump lips. She’d just had satisfying sex, and it showed. Not that he wasn’t proud that he’d been the man to do the job, but he hadn’t planned on exposing her so blatantly to another man’s scrutiny immediately afterward.
He suddenly felt like he needed to defend her honor, hide and protect her, make it clear she wasn’t just some casual lay he’d brought home. But before he could say anything, Ethan spoke up.
“I’m Nate’s brother.”
“So I understand.” Glancing quickly from one brother to the other, her brow furrowed. “You two don’t look at all alike.”
“Thank God,” Nate mumbled under his breath.
“Prick,” Ethan responded.
“Dickhead,” Nate muttered. “Now that we’ve dispatched with the pleasantries, why are you here, and what in the hell do you want?”
Ethan Darling was absolutely gorgeous, in a dark and menacing and complex sort of way. If ther
e was a woman in his life, Tabitha thought, she was either very strong or very weak.
“You wanted to talk to me?” She lifted her chin and looked directly into Ethan’s sharp hazel eyes. He narrowed his gaze on her until she felt like she was being scanned by twin laser beams.
“There was a murder in Marin a month ago,” he said. “The details match almost exactly one of the dreams in the journal.”
Nate’s response was immediate and furious. “Tell me how in the hell you got a copy of that diary.”
Ethan only flicked a glance at his brother. “Connections.”
It was obvious to Tabitha that Ethan was used to being in charge. She couldn’t help but feel he was holding himself in check, keeping his emotions, his words, maybe even his thoughts under rigid control. There was anger in him, possibly rage. Here was a man who was all work and no play. To him, the world was a very serious place.
Past a lump in her throat, she whispered, “Which dream?”
“Why do you care, Ethan?” Nate said as he pulled a cream-colored cable-knit sweater over his head. “Was the victim rich and famous? Why isn’t the Marin County Sheriff’s Department handling it?”
Ethan’s stark eyes followed his brother’s every move. “The victim was a personal friend of mine,” he said quietly. “His name was Walter Perez. He worked for me as head gardener at my house in Marin. I don’t know what the Sheriff’s Department is doing, and I don’t care.” His eyes turned colder, if that was possible. “I want this guy, and I am going to get him.”
Before she could stop herself, Tabitha reached out and touched Ethan’s arm, then snatched her hand away, half expecting to see burn marks on her fingertips. But the brief contact had been enough. His guilt and remorse had filtered through his bulwark of defenses, and she’d picked them up. So much anger…so much pain…
“I’m s-sorry,” she stumbled, as he turned the full force of his gaze on her. “What do you want me to do?” It was all she could manage, given the way his eyes were searing her brain.
He took a piece of paper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to her. Her fingers shook as she looked down at the uneven scribbles on the photocopied page. She didn’t need to read it to know exactly what it said.
Arousing Suspicions Page 16