by Laura Kenner
Like him.
A sudden telltale flash of blue light reflected off a signpost up ahead. As Will turned the corner, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Sara straightened in her seat and leaned forward, straining against the shoulder belt
“They’re at my house!”
A couple of squad cars were parked at the curb, their lights silently piercing the night with an irritating rhythm. Instead of pulling into the driveway, Will drove on by.
“But you…” Sara turned in her seat, trying to look past him to the house. “What are they doing? What’s going on?”
Will reached for his cellular phone, punched in a number and wedged the instrument between his shoulder and ear. The phone rang and a silken voice answered with a simple, “Elliott.”
“Elaine? It’s Will. Since when did you start working the graveyard?”
“Since I decided to get a week off to take a Christmas cruise in the Caribbean. My boss is jealous and the only way he’d agree to let me have a vacation in December is if I take the shifts nobody else wants. And speaking of people wanting stuff…” Her voice always reminded him of silk sheets and strategic scraps of lace. In reality, Elaine Elliott was a six-foot-three Amazon beauty with a sunny disposition and a devoted husband. It wasn’t her fault if her voice tended to make most men dream impossible dreams.
“I’m at 2849 Linwood Way. What’s going down?”
He could hear the clicking of computer keys.
“Suspicious person spotted by neighbor. Possible B and E.” There was a moment of silence. “Oops…”
“What?”
“You still live at 2683 Capstone Drive?”
“Yeah. So?”
“They sent a squad car there thirty minutes ago to investigate a possible B and E. A neighbor helped them secure the property but said someone definitely broke in. A coincidence?”
“Probably not Anything else?”
“Just the usual Saturday-night mayhem.”
“Thanks, doll. I owe you one.”
“Want to baby-sit my kids while I’m away?”
“No, thanks.” Will hung up and turned to Sara who had commandeered the rearview mirror in order to see the proceedings behind her. “One of your neighbors evidently saw someone suspicious hanging outside your house and was afraid they were trying to break in.”
“That’s Martin’s car in the driveway so they must have tried to get me at the restaurant and he came instead. I need to go back and—”
He pulled away from the curb and kept driving straight “You need to get some sleep. You’re exhausted. We’ve both been put through hell’s wringer tonight We don’t need any more cops and their questions. If Martin’s there, he can take care of things, right?”
“Yeah…” She hesitated. “But where do I spend the night?”
Where indeed? Both of their homes had been invaded. They needed someplace safe. Anonymous. “We’ll stay in a hotel tonight”
She pulled her attention away from the mirror and stared at him. “We?”
“Yeah.” He suddenly realized the implication. “I mean we as in you and me in hotel rooms. Rooms, plural. Not you and me…together. My friend told me that there was a reported break-in at my place, too, tonight. I think we’d both be safer if we went someplace where we don’t have to worry about burglars, fire or poison or…”
“Speeding cars…” she supplied. A look of awe washed over her face. “You don’t think someone was trying to hurt you that first night we met, do you?”
He’d considered the near accident merely an unfortunate circumstance. But what if it wasn’t a coincidence?
What if it had been deliberate?
Chapter Thirteen
Saturday, late night
Sara scanned the hotel room, wondering why it made her feel so…tawdry. The decorations were tasteful; the obligatory modern painting consisted of brushstrokes of muted pastels that coordinated with the draperies and upholstered sofa and chair. A couple of lamps added a warm glow to the room, which should have softened her harsh assessment of the situation.
If there had been a bed in the room, then she might have been able to justify her uneasy feelings. A bed would squat there, like a foghorn, announcing, “Two people, one bed. Let your imagination fill in the blanks!”
But there was no bed. Will had rented a suite in deference to both their needs: hers for privacy and his to maintain “basic security.” She would sleep in the bedroom and he would remain on the couch, playing sentry. It was, essentially, a perfect layout
But why did it make her so uneasy?
Don’t be an idiot, Sara. You’re enga—She stopped herself. She was no longer engaged.
Will shut the door behind them and she jumped at the sound of the dead bolt being thrown.
“This seems nice enough.”
She nodded inanely and tightened her grip on the plastic bag in her hand. They’d stopped at a twenty-four-hour grocery store and picked up the barest essentials. Maybe it was the bag that made her feel so uncomfortable. Of course, people who checked into hotels without luggage usually had one agenda on their minds.
Will walked over to a darkened doorway and reached in, turning on a light switch. Sara followed him, moving close enough to see the corner of a quilted pastel bedspread.
“You can sleep in there. And this thing—” he pointed to the sofa “—unfolds to make a bed for me.” He paused and gave her a critical once-over. “You look exhausted. It’s no wonder, considering everything you’ve been through today.”
“I feel exhausted. And filthy. And maybe a bit scared.”
He pulled her into his arms and gave her a hug. “I don’t blame you. That’s why we’re here. I guarantee you’ll be totally safe.”
There was something comforting about being in his embrace. Perhaps too reassuring. Sara suddenly became cognizant of how close they were. She felt his breath on her cheek, the warmth of his chest pressed against hers, the strength of his arms wrapped around her.
She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. They stood there, unmoving, for several seconds. Then Will dipped his head and kissed her.
Initially, she thought it was nothing more than an obligatory gesture on his part, but she found herself quickly reacting to the sweet sensuality of it. For a few moments, a tide of visceral pleasure swept her troubles away, making her forget all the problems that had plagued her for the last couple of days.
But he broke the spell by giving her one last squeeze and pulling back, severing their kiss. He dragged his hand through his hair. “Not now, Sara” he said in a strangled voice. “It’s not the right time.”
She crossed her arms, not out of anger but out of a need to hold herself together. “By whose standards? Ours or society’s?”
He reached out a tentative hand and ran his thumb slowly down her cheek. “Mine.” He cocked his head. “You’re exhausted, aren’t you?”
Sara nodded reluctantly. “Yes.”
“So am I.”
“You think our defenses may be down?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. We’d know better in the morning.”
She closed her eyes. He was right. It was too soon after the painful end of one relationship to leap headlong into another—especially one that seemed to have so much potential intensity. Maybe things would look different in the morning.
Maybe…
She opened her eyes, uncrossed her arms and tried to look resolute. “You’re right.” After a beat she added, “Thanks.”
“Sure.” He stared at his shoes for a moment with inordinate interest, then looked up. “Try to get some sleep. Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay. G’night.” Somehow, she made it to the doorway without tripping. Once inside, she nudged the door closed. Leaning against the wall, she surveyed the room.
It’s going to be a long night.
WILL WATCHED THE DOOR close, then realized he’d been holding his breath.
Why?
Earlier, when they had been wandering throu
gh the grocery, looking for the toothbrush aisle, they’d passed by the condom display. Sara had blushed.
It hadn’t been a case of calculated innocence, a feigned reaction. It had been a real honest-to-God blush that brought much-needed color to her washed-out features.
Who could he kid?
It had made her sexy as hell.
There they’d stood, like a couple of teenagers, trying to ignore an extensive selection of Trojans. For once in his life, he’d prayed they weren’t sharing the same thought. After all, what type of man could think of seduction at a time like this?
A red-blooded, all-American jerk.
He knew Sara was probably at her lowest, physically and emotionally. Only a real jerk would take advantage of her at a vulnerable time like this. That was the problem; a real idiot had already taken advantage of her. Why didn’t Bergeron realize how good he had it? Sara was a smart woman who was beautiful, loyal, funny, well-rounded, successful….
The perfect woman.
At least, by my standards. Perfect for me.
As they’d turned their backs on the display, making banal chatter about what type of toothbrush they preferred, Will had made the decision. One of the things he would be protecting her from tonight would be himself.
Will sighed.
He’d come close to blowing it with the kiss. Somewhere along the line, what he truly had meant to be a simple good-night kiss had become something else—something that knocked him off his feet with the potentiality of its impact on his life.
God help him, he felt something for Sara. Something real. Something intense. Something he had no right to feel at this point in time.
He sighed. At least one potential disaster had been narrowly averted by the emergence of logic. It was his duty to keep her safe and sound from all dangers, even if one of those dangers was himself.
But now that Sara was on the other side of the door, getting ready for bed, his duty seemed harder.
He winced. Bad choice of words.
Drawing a deep breath, he knocked on the door. Logic had to prove it was in control.
“Everything okay?”
The panel between them muted her answer, stripping any discernible emotion from it.
“Umm…yeah.”
“Need anything?”
There was a moment’s hesitation. “No. Thank you.”
“Just checking. I’m going to take a shower so if you need anything, or hear a noise you don’t like, don’t hesitate to pound on the door. Okay?”
“Okay…and thanks.”
He walked over to the door leading to the hallway and checked the locks, then stalked into the bathroom where he hoped untold gallons of cold water would squelch the various fires in his body, especially the one growing in his heart.
SARA WAITED UNTIL SHE got into the bathroom before stripping off her clothes. Although Will had made it quite evident she had the bedroom to herself, something still didn’t feel…right about undressing in there.
She shivered as she stepped into the shower, trying to forget the lingering sensations of their kiss. After she adjusted the single control, the water heated quickly, forming a cloud of steam around her. Looking down, she traced the adventures of the day by the trail of grime and inflictions. The soot from the fire had filtered through her clothes and collected in odd places like beneath waistbands and cuffs. She had a bruise on her shoulder from where she fell against the file cabinet in the closet and small rug burns on both knees from her scrambling efforts to make sure Raymond would stay alive until professional help arrived.
The soap removed the dirt and the hot water soothed her aches, but nothing, not even a vigorous shampoo, seemed to erase the thoughts that tumbled disjointedly through her head. When her mind started to rehash the kiss one more time, she balked and forcibly turned her thoughts to the subject that had occupied her mind previously: Raymond.
She refused to believe he was a lost cause. However, she did acknowledge that he was no longer her cause. She would support him by believing he was innocent of murder. But that was as far as she was willing to go. She found herself accepting the fact that he might be a blackmailer, even if no witness had stepped forward to accuse him directly. Too much evidence pointed to his probable guilt, including his known association with a blackmailer.
Known association? I’m starting to sound like a lawyer. Like Raymond.
Like Will…
Suddenly the water became too hot, her skin too sensitive. She batted at the control, turning the water off. She stared at the swirl of water laced with a few lingering bubbles as it swept down the drain. All the dirt, all the guilt…
Whose guilt? Raymond’s or hers?
Stepping out, she plucked a towel from the stack and began to dry herself. She rubbed vigorously, hoping that the physical sensation might block her thoughts—thoughts that were going in dangerous directions.
The first moment she’d met Will at The Judge’s Chambers, she was attracted to him. There was nothing wrong with that, she’d told herself, especially after she’d learned he’d deliberately baited her. Yet she’d resisted his intentional seduction.
Why?
Because she was a loyal woman…or a stupid one.
Stupid enough to be wrapped up in the righteousness of her loyalty to fail to see that her man was cheating on her. Could she add “stupid enough to be charmed by a man whose business was to fabricate himself into her perfect match”? She thought back to the first time she met Will. How much of what he’d said was true? When he escorted her to the car, they had chatted, almost aimlessly. He’d said he liked to sail, but not to fish; loved old movies, classic cars, progressive jazz and, of course, the Redskins.
How much of that was true?
Suddenly it became important for her to know where the fabrications stopped and the real man began. She slipped on the terry-cloth robe the hotel had so thoughtfully provided, belted it tightly and stalked to her door.
She raised her hand to knock…then her courage suddenly failed.
Did it really matter? What difference would knowing make? All she wanted was Will’s arms, his lips, his…
She took in a deep gulp of air.
That’s it! Talk shows do programs on things like this—bouncing from one bad relationship right into another.
She plopped down on the floor, stunned by the revelation.
Women on the Rebound and the Men Who Catch Them.
She leaned her forehead on her knees.
Her and Will?
Will and her?
I’ll never get any sleep, now.
WILL NEVER EVEN UNFOLDED the couch. He stretched out on it, television remote control in hand, and changed channels for an hour until he found a Bogart movie. It was just what he needed to chase away forbidden thoughts: a healthy dose of macho P.I. action with guns ablazing and general murder and mayhem. Everything was fine until Lauren Bacall stepped onto screen. His imagination blended fiction with reality and he conjured up a mental image of Sara dressed as the high-society dame, veiled hat, prim suit, quick-witted, quicker-tongued….
He groaned and switched off the television. No Big Sleep for me tonight. No little sleep either.
Sunday morning, early
THE CRACK IN THE curtains allowed a long shaft of sunlight to shine directly into Will’s face, burning through to his consciousness and waking him with a start. Once he realized where he was, he remembered to congratulate himself. Not only had he withstood temptation, but he actually had fallen asleep at some point.
Logic had won once again over pure animal instinct. The evolutionary pundits could rejoice.
His stomach growled, signifying that some hungers couldn’t be so easily denied. He staggered into the bathroom where he relieved himself and splashed cold water on his face. He pulled on his jeans and found the room-service menu, which used glowing adjectives to describe every food item. They didn’t serve bacon, eggs, juice and toast but “Lightly fluffed eggs served with a full rasher of imported h
ickory-smoked bacon, your choice of sunshine-fresh, hand-squeezed juice and of course, our world-famous hand-kneaded bread toasted to a golden brown perfection, with a selection of piquant condiments.”
And judging by the price of the meal, each adjective cost the consumer an extra dollar.
Will tapped on the bedroom door. “Sara. You up?” He heard a groaning sound and a muted thud. “Sara?” He twisted the doorknob and shouldered the door out of the way, ready to spring into action.
He discovered her half out of bed, outstretched fingers just grazing the electric clock radio, which evidently had been knocked from the bedside table.
“You okay? I heard a noise.”
For a moment, Sara wasn’t sure if this was a lingering dream, reality, or some oddball combination of the two. She knew sleep was fuzzing her brain, but somehow her instincts assured her that her bare-chested protector was the man of her dreams.
She forced herself to open her eyes and her mind. It’s Will. He stood in the doorway, framed by the sunlight, which highlighted his flexed muscles.
She swallowed hard when she realized what sort of awkward position she’d jackknifed herself into. Shifting back in bed, she gestured weakly at the radio. “It started playing country music. I can’t stand country music, especially in the morning.”
He shot her a crooked grin. “Me neither.” He walked across the room, bent down and picked up the radio, changing the station before replacing it on the table. “Better?”
She heard a soft saxophone wailing a familiar tune. It was soothing. Very relaxing. Very sexy…She closed her eyes. Get a grip, girl. “That’s m-much better,” she stammered. “I love that type of music.”
“Me, too.” He thrust a folder toward her. “You want some breakfast?”
Grateful for the diversion, she took the menu and studied its contents. Her stomach lurched at the overzealous descriptions.
He must have noticed her discomfort. “What’s wrong? You don’t like the selection?”