by Betina Krahn
She shook her head. “We’ve been alone before.”
“Not like this.” He trailed his mouth across her cheek, relishing the smoothness of her skin, the citrus scent of her perfume that wrapped seductive tendrils around him and drew him further under her spell. “This is different. You and me, knowing who we are. What we want.”
She licked her lips, her gaze dropping to his. “And what do you want?”
“You.” He inched closer, until their bare thighs brushed. “Not just your body this time, but your mind and heart. I want to hear you say my name. I want nothing between us.”
“But, how—”
He silenced her question with another kiss. He appreciated her keen mind, her drive and desire to solve the puzzles in her life, even if one of those puzzles involved him and queries he wasn’t ready to face.
Tonight he wanted steam and heat and…her. Just her.
It seemed he’d been waiting for her all his life. Some part of him had sparked with a need to claim, to take and possess as soon as he’d seen her walking by him like a ghost from the past in frothy, pure sky-blue.
“Tyler,” she whispered, and his heart raced.
Then it jumped when she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her chest against his.
His body hardened at her touch. His blood heated, and he tugged her through the bubbling water and into his lap, her legs straddling his hips. Wrapping his hands around her waist, he pressed against her lower back, and groaned as his erection found the answering pulse between her thighs.
Slick skin, needy touches, greedy senses.
The sensations melded together in the steam as he untied her bikini, and she helped him remove his boxers. They slid against each other, his hand diving between her legs, eliciting the moan of his name he’d been longing for. Her hand wrapped around his erection, sliding up then down with brisk assurance.
“Dear…” she gasped suddenly.
He trailed his mouth up her jaw, feeling her climactic pulse around his fingers.
“…Tyler,” she added, shuddering.
“There’s more,” he assured her.
Flopped against his body, she panted. “Not sure I can take it.”
“Sure you can.”
He swung her up and out of the water, adrenaline and need giving him much-needed strength. Earlier, while she’d been fussing with her strawberry dessert, he’d been busy placing condoms within easy reach of the hot tub. He grabbed one of the packages now, and tore into the foil with his teeth.
Protection in place and sitting on the side of the tub, the lower half of his legs dangling in the water, he moved her over him and onto his pulsing erection, closing his eyes at the intense pleasure that surged through him as she took him into her body.
Caught up in the sensation herself or just mercifully realizing he craved immediate movement, she rocked against his hips.
Pleasure shot down his spine.
He clung to her, absorbing the silky wetness of her skin, tight fit of her femininity surrounding him, the sea breeze rushing over them.
When everything inside him tightened in anticipation of orgasm, he pressed her hips closer, hoping she’d climax again, with him, giving them both the bond their bodies craved and their souls longed for.
With a jerk, she gripped his shoulders, and he knew they were as one. He closed his eyes. His lips found the base of her throat at the exact place her pulse raced. He lost control of the pleasure soaring through every cell of his body.
They were together.
Not before, and maybe not even after. But, for now, he was everything to her, and her to him.
It was more than he’d hoped for.
Probably more than he deserved.
SHE WORE HIS SHIRT and nothing else.
Even her mental defenses had vanished.
She was trying to regret running onto the beach after Tyler and impulsively leading him back to her house, inviting him into her life and bed. But as she stood on the deck outside her bedroom, watching the moon slide in and out of the clouds, the shadows of the palms dancing across the sand, she acknowledged she felt better than she ever had in her life.
Sex with Tyler wasn’t awkward groping or missed timing or lacking in emotion. It was special and real and…amazing. The mere memory of his touch made her heart beat faster.
Why couldn’t she, for once, stop considering the future based on actuary tables or past predictors? Why couldn’t she enjoy herself without worrying about the downside? Why couldn’t she indulge in the attention of a man she’d considered her fantasy ideal for half her life?
She wanted to do all those things.
On the other hand, if she could take out an insurance policy on them, she’d do it in a blink.
When his arms encircled her from behind, she closed her eyes and leaned back into him.
“I thought you were asleep,” she said.
“I was,” he returned, his voice scratchy in an intimate way that made her heart flip over in her chest. “But I realized you weren’t with me anymore.”
“I come out here when I’m restless.”
“You should be exhausted.” He brushed her hair to the side, then pressed his lips to her nape. “But if you’re not…”
“This is crazy. This can’t work.”
“You’re so right,” he said calmly, then kissed her just behind her ear. “It’s going really lousy so far.”
“I’m serious.” She turned in his arms, intending to push him back. That brilliant plan would have worked if she hadn’t gotten an eyeful of him, his broad, muscled, tanned chest bare and wearing nothing but his jeans, which he’d neglected to button all the way. Her mouth went dry. “I’m…”
Angling his head, he threaded his fingers through her hair. His blue-eyed gaze locked on her face, he lowered his head and kissed her—thoroughly, slowly, deeply.
“What were you saying?” he asked when he pulled back after what seemed like hours.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I have absolutely no idea.”
LIKE A DÉJÀ VU NIGHTMARE, Tyler woke to his cell phone ringing.
Before answering, he reached out beside him in the bed. Finding Andrea’s bare hip, he turned toward her, pulling her back against him. At least this morning-after wouldn’t begin like the last one.
As he groped for his phone, he made a mental note to spend nights at her house from now on so she couldn’t run out on him.
“This had better be good,” he said into the phone without opening his eyes.
“Up and at ’em, Lieutenant.” It was Aqua’s voice. “I’ve got a problem here.”
“If the rosebush vandal was in action last night, I’ll handle it when I get in. Unless it’s an emergency, Aqua, you really need to save your calls for a decent hour.”
“How do you feel about nine-oh-five?”
Andrea turned, kissing his chest, her warm hands wandering downward, and Tyler vowed to become a pool boy before he’d put up with the sheriff business. “I’ll be there before eight, so that sounds fine.”
“Boss, you missed eight a while back.”
“I—” With his senses clearing, he heard a commotion in the background on Aqua’s end. He opened his eyes and found Andrea’s bedroom dim—and her lips working their way across his jaw. He tugged her against his growing erection and considered hanging up on his dispatcher. “If this is some kind of test the sheriff put you up to, it’s not funny. What time is it?”
“Nine-oh-six.”
“No way.”
But the sound in the background grew in volume, and Tyler felt his first fissure of true worry.
He craned his neck around to find the digital clock on Andrea’s bedside table: 9:06.
He sat straight up. “Damn.”
“Tyler?” Andrea asked, her voice thick and groggy.
“What’s going on, Aqua?” he asked into the phone.
“I want you to know I have confidence in your abilities, which is why I called you fi
rst instead of bugging the sheriff in the middle of his vacation.”
“Really?” Somehow he didn’t think it was confidence in his abilities, but the sheriff’s wrath she considered. He wasn’t due back until right before the election, which was still two weeks away. “What’s wrong?”
“We have a situation. A sort of immediate one. Listen.”
The background noise he’d heard before became two male voices, both raised in anger. He rolled out of bed and was on his feet in a second. “Are they armed?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Where’s Dwayne?”
“Hiding in the records room.”
“Shut your door and lock it.”
“Already done.”
“Stay on the line. I’ll be right there.” He jumped into his jeans, strapped on his ankle holster, found his shirt tossed on the dresser and his shoes…Hell, they were probably still outside. “I gotta go,” he whispered to a confused Andrea, who’d sat up, wrapping the sheet around her body.
“Is it serious?” she asked, her eyes jumping to alert.
“Could be. I’ll—” He stopped, knowing he didn’t have time for pretty words. Leaning over, he kissed her, inhaled her scent and wished he could linger. “We can talk later, okay?”
“Sure. You want me to come with you?”
“No.” He was already in a partial panic about Aqua. “I can—” His truck was back at Joe’s. Damn, damn, damn. Some sheriff he’d make. “I need your car.”
“My keys are on the kitchen counter downstairs.”
“Thanks.”
He kissed her one last time, then sped from the room and down the stairs.
Grateful, and not for the first time, he lived on a really small island, he was at the station in minutes, keeping the line open and talking to Aqua the entire time. The commotion was apparently caused by Roger Bampton and Cal Jones, rival team volleyball captains.
Since Tyler had only been back recently, he was unfamiliar with the intensity of adult volleyball competitions. He remembered his dad playing softball for St. Matthews—no shouting allowed. Sister Mary Katherine had her standards, after all.
“You know the Red Sox versus Yankees?” Aqua asked.
“Sure.”
“Kittens rolling around on the floor with a ball of yarn compared to the annual June first Palmer’s Island volleyball finals.”
“This should be fun. I’ll see you inside.”
He disconnected the call as he leaped from Andrea’s car. The police station was adjacent to city hall, but with its own entrance. Both buildings were historic, brick with stone steps. In the parking lot, he noticed two unfamiliar cars, one with the personalized plate CHAMP.
Yippee. Arguing egomaniac volleyball players.
When he slid inside, he was pleased to note both men stood practically nose to nose in the lobby and didn’t even seem to be aware of Aqua’s presence behind her glassed-in office.
However, they whipped their heads toward him as he let the front door bang shut behind him. “You two need to take a long step backward.”
They stared at him for ten seconds, then resumed shouting.
“My trophy’s missing, and he took it!” the tall, dark-haired, athletically thin guy yelled.
“It’s not your trophy,” the other guy—short, squatty with blond hair going on gray—returned in a disgusted tone. “You had so many ringers on your team you coulda gone professional.”
“What a bunch of crap. Face it, Bampton. You lost.” He laughed. “No surprise.”
Bampton apparently had no intention of facing anything. His skin burned bright red. “Your setter played for team U.S.A. in the Olympics!”
Tall guy, who must be Cal, threw his hands up. “He bought a house on the beach. That’s a crime now?”
Tyler crossed his arms over his chest while he watched the exchange, and his thoughts returned to Andrea and the warm, cozy bed he’d left. He’d spent a lot of years serving his country, doing just that over and over. He’d grumbled over the lack of sleep and inconvenient timing, but he’d never resented his duty.
Until now.
He’d retired—early, somewhat reluctantly and under a cloud—to his quiet island home. Didn’t he deserve some actual quiet?
Striding around the two idiot men, he approached the side door to Aqua’s office, which she opened. “I need some cuffs.”
After darting to a drawer, she laid the cool steel in his hand. “Where are yours?”
“In my truck.”
She grinned knowingly. “Which is where—exactly?”
“Lock up,” he said as he started to pull the door closed.
“That must have been some fish sandwich you had with Andrea Hastings.”
Okay, maybe the island was a little too small.
Pushing personal issues aside, he shut the door, then turned, noting Roger and Cal were still shouting, completely unaware of their surroundings. And for the first time since he’d left active duty, he pulled his gun for something other than cleaning it.
He approached the men, holding his pistol in one hand and the handcuffs in the other. “At the moment, you’ve still got a choice,” he said quietly.
Even amid the shouting, they obviously heard the determined tone. Blessed silence ensued.
They also got their asses hauled into cells. Separate ones. Which unfortunately got them shouting again.
After Tyler retrieved his fellow deputy from his records room barricade, he called Andrea to tell her everything was fine and he’d have her car back within the hour. He gave Aqua a high five, then poured himself a fresh cup of coffee before wandering back down the hall to the cells.
Leaning against the wall, he sipped from his mug and eyed the sullen, now quiet, detainees. “You guys want to tell me what’s going on?”
When they both starting shouting at once, he turned and headed back down the hall. He checked his e-mail while indulging in a daydream where the sheriff pinned his new badge to his chest after the election, while his family and Andrea clapped beside him.
An adoring look and kiss from Andrea followed. The perfect day.
After a bit, he headed down to the cells again. “You guys want to try again?”
“You can’t keep us locked up in here,” Roger said.
“I want my lawyer,” Cal added.
Tyler nodded. “Sure. Where is he exactly? Charleston?” He deliberately glanced at his watch. “With spring break traffic and road construction delays, it shouldn’t take him more than forty-five minutes to drive over. In the meantime, I can come up with some official charges. Disturbing the peace, terrorizing police officials—”
“You’ve lost your mind,” Cal said, wrapping his hands around the bars. “I did no such thing.”
“My fellow deputy and dispatcher were forced to barricade themselves out of harm’s way in fear for their lives.” Smiling, Tyler started out. “I’ll get you a phone.”
“Don’t go!” Roger begged. “I’m the victim here. This idiot stormed into my house and accused me of taking his stupid trophy.”
“You did,” Cal insisted. “Who else would take it?”
“How should I know? Or even care?”
“When did you notice the trophy was missing?” Tyler asked, hoping to head off yet another screaming match.
“This morning. I got up to start the coffeepot and noticed the trophy was gone.”
“Could it have been gone for a while?”
“No.” His face reddened. “I polish it…frequently.”
“Every frickin’ morning probably,” Roger said dryly.
Tyler silenced him with a glare. “Was the trophy kept in plain sight?” he asked Cal.
“On the mantel over the fireplace.”
“Any sign of a break-in?”
“The back door was unlocked, but my mother sometimes leaves it open by accident.”
“Your mother?”
“She doesn’t get around too well, so I’ve been living with her since my
divorce.”
“Bad divorce?”
Cal shrugged. “No worse than most. And why would my ex want my trophy? It’s silver but it probably has very little actual precious metal in it. It’s the pride in having won.”
The tips of Tyler’s fingers tingled. “Silver, huh? You have a picture of it?”
“Sure.” Cal reached into his back pocket for his cell phone, then flipped it open. A picture of him and his team hoisting the trophy was the background on his home screen. “I have some close-ups, too,” he said, pushing the phone between the bars and into Tyler’s hand.
And he certainly did. The cop was glad to have the details; the man was sincerely embarrassed for the guy.
“Who has access to the house besides you and your mother?”
“The cleaning service. Oh, and the church brings lunch to Mother a couple times a week. Both have keys in case she’s not home.”
And that was one coincidence too many. The tingle in his fingers became a full-fledged vibration. But how could the two cases be related? The volleyball trophy was silver—in color. It was worthless. The tea set was priceless.
“Do you know who brought lunch recently?” he asked, thinking of Sister Mary Katherine’s list, which he’d yet to look over.
Cal shrugged. “She didn’t say. I don’t think it’s any one person.”
“I’ll send Dwayne out to your mother’s house within the hour.” Tyler unlocked Cal’s cell, then handed him a business card. “In the meantime, I’d appreciate you e-mailing me the pictures of the trophy.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Tyler unlocked Roger’s cell as well. “In the future, gentlemen, call the office when you have a situation that requires our assistance instead of taking action on your own.”
Roger nodded at Tyler, sent Cal a glare, then stormed off down the hall.
“He’s a sore loser,” Cal commented.
Tyler had been thinking Cal could be a better winner. As he escorted the latest “victim” back to the lobby, Tyler got Cal’s mother’s name and phone number. He needed to find out who had brought her lunch ASAP.
On his way to the sheriff’s office, he stopped by the records room and gave Dwayne his assignment. “Be sure to dust the back door and mantel for fingerprints,” he added.
Since, next to filing, that was Dwayne’s favorite thing in the world to do, his coworker was smiling when Tyler left, the morning’s trauma apparently forgotten.