by Lakes, Lynde
Vowing to be good company, she clasped his hand and waded with him into the water. When the sandy bottom disappeared from beneath their feet, they parted and swam side by side. Damon had a good strong stroke, but she’d participated in the Iron Man Competition, where endurance mattered as much as skill, and could match him stroke for stroke. Before she could stop herself, she wondered if they’d be equally well matched in bed.
When they retreated to shallower water, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her above his head. He held her there with powerful arms before he tossed her into a playful dive. It was obvious he drummed up frequent excuses to touch her. They chased and tried to outdo each other, but somehow the game always ended with his hands on her. Her skin sizzled from his touch, and she thought she’d die of desire. “I think I’ve had enough water play,” she said, her voice husky and filled with impossible longing.
Damon agreed with a devious glint in his eyes. They walked in from the sea, the full moon bathing them in silvery light. With salt water clinging to their bodies, Damon linked his fingers with hers and said, “Let’s walk down the beach to dry off.”
A gentle sea breeze blew Malia’s damp hair, and she inhaled the sweet scent of plumeria. Damon’s body gently jostled hers as they strolled along. In opposition to the calm surf, her pulse beat wildly.
Suddenly, Damon stopped and drew her behind a sheltering wall covered with tangled bougainvillea. Their bodies collided. Wet swimsuit pressed against wet swimsuit. He kissed her neck, sending prickly shivers down to her toes. Before she could step back and call a halt to the dangerous ground they’d entered, Damon brushed her lips with his. “Since last night, I’ve wanted to do this again.”
Me, too, she thought, but if she confessed it to him she’d be totally lost. He met her lips again. This time the kiss was more demanding, and against her better judgment she arched her body to meet his, yearning for more of him. Her blood turned to liquid fire. Dear God, how she wanted him. But she could never have him. Her code wouldn’t allow her to benefit from Kiki’s death. Ending up with the estranged husband of her murdered best friend was unthinkable.
She listened to a gentle breeze leafing through the palm fronds. What if she allowed herself just tonight with no plans to have him for keeps? Could she trust him, or even herself, to walk away afterward with no regrets? With her growing affection for Damon, making love would be taking a big, huge risk. Although her intentions might be to commit her body just for tonight, she knew she would be committing her heart forever. With nothing beyond tonight possible, was it worth it to have one night to remember for the rest of their lives?
Lives that could be short with the danger lurking out there…
Damon’s mouth was so close she felt his breath on her lips; the sensation effectively erased all thought. “Kiss me,” she said. Before he could comply, she pulled his head down and opened her mouth beneath his, imploring his tongue to enter.
His body tensed, and then his tongue plundered her mouth with a desperation that surprised her. Heat seared through their swim suits, fusing their bodies. Every contour of his powerful body silently called out to her.
He let out a groan and whispered against her lips, “You may be my undoing.”
At the husky rumble of his voice, the last thread of her willpower broke free. Malia trailed her hand from Damon’s shoulder to the back of his neck. Her fingers threaded through black hair that curled at the base of his neck. He buried his face in her hair, nuzzled her neck. His breath on her skin was warm, and her body responded, tingling, liquefying.
“Let me love you. Here. Now,” he whispered, drawing her down to the cool gritty sand, beneath the shadow of the wall.
Good sense, intregrity, and her conscience warned to back off while her scruples were still intact. A cloud drifted in front of the moon, and the sudden darkness sent a shiver down her back. She listened for paddles cutting water or a distant outboard motor. She heard only the breeze rustling the bushes … and the pounding of her own heart. Although there was no immenient threat, it might be wise to use the possibility of it as her excuse. But she was certain that the greatest danger came from her hunger for Damon. For that reason, she had to nip this insanity in the bud.
She pulled back, face hot. “Damon,” she said breathlessly. She’d intended it as a protest, but the fervent way she said his name, even to her, sound like consent.
He slid a strap from her shoulder. The damp bikina bra lost substance and slithered to rest on her breast. He gently eased the fabric lower. She tossed her head back, and he claimed one breast then the other with a hungry, devouring mouth. The dart of sexual desire that shot through her was so sudden and unexpected it felt like both pain and pleasure. Then, there was
nothing but pleasure … and she was lost to the sensations, lost to lust.
Wanting no barriers between them, Malia undid her constricting bra and threw it over her shoulder, imagining it fluttering to the sand. With one pull she removed her bikini bottom and let it fly.
Damon paused to look at her and then sent his shorts in the same general direction. He buried his fingers in her hair. “Malia,” he murmured. The possessive way he said her name heightened her desire, her impatience. She drew him closer. He rolled over, capturing her beneath him, hands above her head. The sand shifted to accommodate their bodies. She wrapped her legs around him, wanting to feel this man she loved inside her. She arched against him, drew him in, met each of his thrusts, craving them deeper, faster. All of her energy centered on their undulating bodies, the intensity of feeling, the heat. She writhed wildly, seeking release, arching her body, begging him not to stop. Then her world exploded in a blaze of fireworks, and she took Damon with her as she plummeted over the brink.
Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms. Malia sighed in contentment, accepting her euphoria as a temporary thing. Although she could never make love with him again, she refused to regret tonight.
She traced the line of Damon’s strong jaw with the tips of her fingers, breathing in the aroma of sweat and sex that scented the breeze. When Damon looked down into her eyes, she brushed soft strands of hair from his forehead. The strands fell forward naturally again when his mouth descended on hers. She wanted to whisper “I love you,” but if she said the words, it would change everything. Yet, hadn’t things already changed? She’d really done a number on herself. Because of her momentary loss of willpower, she knew she’d never be the same again.
Damon kissed her forehead. She listened to a gentle breeze leafing through the palm fronds. She stroked his chest hair knowing she’d pay for their momentary recklessness one way or another. “We’d better go back,” she said softly.
He laughed. “Without having our picnic? What are you, a fun and run chick?”
She laughed, amused that he’d cleaned up the crude saying for her. “I’ll have to think about that.” Last night he’d said that if she offered to make love again, he wouldn’t stop. Had she offered? Of course, with every touch, every laugh, every time she lowered her voice and murmured his name.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Still caught up in passion-shock, Damon couldn’t get his mind off the earlier sight of Malia stretched out seductively beside him. A teasing sidelong glance suggested she was up to something. Then, without his help, she’d undone her bikini top and yanked it off with such abandon, throwing it behind her into the breeze. He’d thought his heart would hammer its way right out of his chest at the sight of her creamy mounds. Each wiggle, each lift of her pelvis sent blood coursing through his veins with such intensity that he thought he might come before he’d even touched her. When she slithered out of her bikini bottom, sliding it down her shapely legs with the speed of an eel, the throbbing in his ready-to-explode extremity went wild.
“Damon … Earth to Damon,” Malia said, yanking him back to the moment. He stared at the picnic spread before him, wanting to push the food aside and pull her into his arms again. Needing to do something with his hands, Dam
on inanely passed her the salt although he’d learned she never used it.
She sprinkled a little over her shoulder without taking her gaze off him and handed it back. “With the killer zeroing in on you now, maybe you should toss a little to the wind, too… for luck,” she said, a cop tone suddenly creeping into her voice.
He laughed and complied, not because of the killer, but because he felt Malia starting to withdraw from him, and he knew he’d need all the luck he could get to stop her retreat. “You’re homeless.”
She put down her chicken and sent him a sardonic glance. “So much for forgetting my problems and relaxing. What’s with the sudden reality check?”
“I think we should move in together.”
She jerked back slightly and stared at him. “Have you lost your mind? Or are you just out to get me fired?”
“It makes perfect sense. You’re homeless, and I have a place big enough for both of us. We could watch each other’s butts.”
“Oh, yeah, I can see the headlines now: Homicide Detective Fired After Moving In With Victim’s Estranged Husband.”
“Okay, when you put it that way, maybe I need to rethink the logistics. At least we need to talk about what happened between us.”
She sighed. “Perhaps we do.” Rather than speaking right away, she stared out at the darkened bay for a few arduous moments. Finally, she said, “I’ll always treasure tonight, and because I have real feelings for you, I refuse to call it a mistake – but it can never happen again.”
“Why the hell not? We clicked together – we were in sync and magical together, like we belonged together – and dammit, we set off a whole sky of fireworks.”
A wistful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, I can’t deny that. But everything else is out of sync. I could lose my job for what happened here. My boss ordered me to steer clear of any emotional entanglements with you. And he’s right. My caring for you puts us both in greater danger.”
He had to make her see that their goals were actually the same goal approached from two diametrically opposing angles. They both wanted to catch the killer, stay alive and put the pain behind them. For his own sanity, he needed to stay close to the case, which meant staying close to Malia. But she wouldn’t like that explaination. She knew he’d taken on the responsibility of keeping her safe, and capable cop that she was, she didn’t like that either.
He could see things from her point of view, and understood why she might not be ready to compromise. But if she thought she could hide him away somewhere while she risked her life, she didn’t know him very well.
He pulled the orchid lei that he’d bought for her from the basket and draped it around her neck. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I can see cooling things down a bit until the killer is caught, but I won’t accept the word never.”
****
Al Lee struggled to control his twitching nerves. He’d lost Malia. And now she’d foiled him again. When he returned to the hotel, he was met with tight-assed security. The guards refused to let him by without the proper ID. He could rip-off an ID from some unfortunate soul registered at the hotel given a few hours. It was a damned good thing that his attempt to breach security tonight was just a dry run. He planned to steal the dynamite after midnight, when the construction site security was at a minimum and plant the explosives between 2:00 and 5:00 AM, after the red-eye crowd had staggered off to bed.
The theft of explosives had been so easy both of the other times. He’d only needed a small amount. This time powerful stuff was necessary. But he knew where to get it. Money could buy anything. Malia hadn’t won. His plan to plant the dynamite wasn’t dead, only delayed.
In spite of his pumped up confidence, he felt the building pressure. Time was running out. Non-local classmates would board their flights in the next few days. He had plenty of time to look up those who’d settled here, but he couldn’t let the mainlanders escape.
He would get into the damned hotel or his name wasn’t Al Lee. Wearing his disguise of the night, he watched a lone man leave the hotel. As the man passed him, he recognized Marko Delapena, one of the guys who’d jammed his head in the toilet and flushed it. So much the better, he thought as he fell into step behind him. This time there would be no body, no news that the killer had struck again. Then, with his victim’s entire ID, he would gain entry to the hotel, scope it out, and later, in the wee morning hours, plant the bomb.
****
Malia pressed her fingers against her temples to ease the building pressure. She’d spent too many sleepless nights lately and wrestled with too many unresolved issues. Her gaze shifted to Damon. She gently touched the petals of the lei he’d given to her. What was she going to do about him? He drove in silence with a satisfied look on his face. She hated to erase it. “You go on ahead to your friend’s place as planned. But drop me off at the hotel.”
“The Hotel?” A frown creased his face and his eyes narrowed. “Not where your classmates are staying?”
She lifted a defiant chin. “I’ve decided to spend the night on site to keep security on their toes.”
“Are you crazy?” Damon said. “You received a bomb threat on the place, for crissakes.”
“And it’s my responsibility to keep everyone safe. I know they’ll find a room for me. Then, I’ll set my clock and make rounds throughout the night.”
She flipped open her cell and dialed Officer Wilcox; he was her most experienced bodyguard. And she definitely needed help with Damon. She couldn’t spend tonight under the same roof with him … not after her lustful behavior. She needed to keep her mind on the job.
After she hung up, Damon said, “You’ll have to call him back.” His jaw tightened. “If you’re staying, so am I.”
“No, Damon, you’re not. Try it, and I’ll see that you spend the night in the pokey. Got that?”
He shot a fierce look at her. “What happened to the woman I just made love to?”
His husky words sparked a longing so strong that it sent a flash of heat rolling through her. I’m right here, she thought. She hated the cold, harsh words she was about to say, when what she really wanted was to thrust herself into his arms and spend an eternity making love to him. “She’s gone … forever. Reed-the-cop is back in charge. Get used to it.”
****
Al Lee sat at a small round table in the darkened bar of the hotel he intended to bomb. He had an urge to throw his shot glass across the room into the beveled mirror behind the bar. Malia had foiled him again. With Marko Delapena’s ID he’d gotten into the hotel all right, but he’d run smack into a block wall that had blown his plans all to hell. His military and construction sources for buying large quantities of explosives wouldn’t even talk to him; they were running scared and wouldn’t deal with him, even if he upped the ante. It was all Malia’s fault. He should have stuck with his original plan and killed her first. In just a few hours, she’d managed to tighten security at all sites where explosives were stored and mess up his plans. He motioned to the barmaid to bring him another straight shot. When she didn’t move fast enough, he jumped up, crossed to the bar in two strides, grabbed the glass from her tray and downed it in one gulp. While the waitress watched wide-eyed, he threw down a twenty and headed for the door. Explosives weren’t the only way to take out this damned hotel.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hotel Management insisted upon waiving all room charges to have Malia on-site as another line of defense against a killer watching for a breakdown in the fragile wall of human security. The room, on the 8th floor, was the only one available when she checked in. Probably its location by the elevator and ice machine was the reason management filled it last. Malia turned restlessly in the king-sized bed. The elevator’s up and down journeys brought jarring sounds of grinding cables, bumps, and when the doors opened and closed, she heard rubbing metal and another bump. Sharing the same wall with an ice machine with a continually humming motor and an occasional series of clunks as guests filled their ice buckets
, was another minus. But since the torture-chamber room was gratis it didn’t seem right to complain.
A glance at the red numerals on the clock told her it was only fifteen minutes until her next scheduled round. She’d been going every two hours, but since she was awake, she decided to go now.
She slipped on black Bermuda shorts, tucked her gun into her matching jacket pocket and headed down stairs. She talked briefly with the security guards and other staff, making sure the general description and composite drawing of the killer had been passed down from management. After she was sure everyone had a copy, she left them and slowly walked the perimeter of the sprawling hotel, scanning the lush tropical grounds for anything that didn’t look right. Loose pebbles crunched under her steps. She nodded to the occasional passing guards, who quickly disappeared around corners. Breezes whispered eerily in the palm fronds, and the full moon slipped behind a cloud, darkening the sky. The trees nearest the hotel were strung with tiny lights that, while beautiful, gave little illumination. Beyond the lane of lights, lay monstrous banyan trees with twisted roots snaking off into the shadows. Rows of tall, thick hibiscus bushes provided walls of hiding places. She shoved her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around the gun. She saw nothing suspicious but had the chilling feeling that she was being watched.
****
Taking advantage of the stillness of night, Al Lee slipped into the hotel’s communication center. He slipped the ID card he’d appropriated from a guard going off duty into the slot, and the security door opened. The entry was dark except for the light coming from a room just ahead. He crept closer, hugging the walls, his giant shadow merging with the darkness. When he peered into the room, he saw a bank of computers manned by a pudgy, balding guard who divided his attention among the screens. Al removed a plumber’s wrench from his tool belt and gripped it tightly. Moving swiftly and quietly, Al clobbered the guard over the back of the head. There was an empty thud, and then the man slumped onto the keyboard. Camera views flashed fast-forward across the screen. Al shoved the man off the keys onto the floor, bent, and dragged him to a utility closet and stuffed him inside. With heart pounding erratically, Al placed a plastic bag over the guy’s head and secured it firmly with masking tape. “Sorry fatso,” he murmured. “But if you regained consciousness you’d ruin everything.”