Body Movers: 2 Bodies for the Price of 1

by Stephanie Bond

  He circled his hand around her wrist and suddenly the air was sexually charged. “Carlotta Wren,” he murmured. “I can’t figure you out. You keep throwing me curve balls.”

  Her throat closed as his gold-colored eyes locked with her gaze and his touch seemed to seep into her skin. “Jack, I don’t understand sports analogies. And I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  “That’s wise of you,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to within an inch of hers. “Around you, I don’t trust me either.”

  His breath brushed her lips and she felt herself sinking into him. He was giving her the chance to pull away, to run, to slap him. Instead she flicked out her tongue and coaxed his mouth to hers. He descended with a groan, searing his lips against hers in a scorching kiss that sent desire coursing through her body. His tongue delved deeper into her mouth as the kiss grew in intensity, both of them fighting for breath. At the sound of something hitting the floor, she realized distantly that she’d dropped the wrapped gift, but the thought was quickly overridden with wonder that her body was alive—and on fire.

  She fisted her hands in his shirt as he slid his hands down her back and over her rear, molding her body to his. Shock waves vibrated through her breasts and thighs, and longing erupted in her midsection.

  “I’ve wanted you,” he said against her lips, “since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

  She sighed into his mouth, reveling in the wall of warm, muscled body all but enveloping her. The scent of strong soap and minty aftershave filled her lungs, strumming her senses higher. Through their clothing, she could feel the ridge of his erection pressing into her stomach. She rocked her hips against his—closer, tighter, harder—

  “What the hell’s going on here?”

  Jack released her and she jerked toward the noise and the breeze. Wesley and Coop stood at the front door staring at them. Wesley looked appalled and Coop looked—disappointed?

  19

  Carlotta’s stomach bottomed out as Wesley turned his fury upon Jack. He strode forward and shouted, “Is this why you concocted this whole charade, Detective? So you could get into this house and into my sister’s pants?”

  “No,” Jack bit out, hands jammed on hips. A muscle worked in his jaw.

  Her full-body flush of desire morphed into mortification. “Wesley—”

  “How could you?” he said to her, his face twisted in disgust. “This guy arrested me and is trying to trap Dad, and you’re…fooling around with him? Whose side are you on?”

  Her heart squeezed. “Wesley—”

  “This is none of your business, son,” Jack said, stepping forward. “This is between your sister and me.”

  Wesley’s mouth tightened and his face turned scarlet. “I’m not your son. And the deal’s off. I’m not pretending anymore.”

  “Nothing has changed,” Jack said quietly, “including the deal.” He looked at Coop, who had averted his gaze. “Close the door, Coop.”

  Coop looked at her, then Jack, his expression unreadable. “I think I’d better go.”

  “Take Wesley with you,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, we were just…checking in. Come on, Wes. We need to get back to work.”

  Wesley set his jaw, beseeching her with his eyes to fix things—to call off the deal with the D.A. and send Jack Terry on his way.

  “Go, Wesley,” she said evenly. “You don’t have to worry about anything here.”

  His shoulders fell and he fairly shook with anger, but with a parting glare at Jack, he shoved past Coop and disappeared through the door.

  Coop exchanged a wordless glance with Jack that excluded her completely, then he turned and walked out, pulling the door closed behind him.

  For several long seconds she and Jack stood in the silence that sucked at the room. Carlotta closed her eyes and berated herself for her lapse. If she could’ve done only one thing to complicate the already messy situation, it would be to body-kiss Jack Terry.

  Minus ten points.

  As proof, her body was still tingling in the aftermath. A reminder of how long it had been since she’d had sex—so long that a man she disliked could get her engine revving. As of now, she officially had no pride. Not sure what to expect, she turned toward him.

  “Jack—”

  “Carlotta—”

  They stopped and looked at each other. Regret and remorse filled every line on his rugged face and she was certain hers was equally telltale.

  “Me first,” he said, pulling a hand down his face. “I like you—more than I should. But—”

  “But we can’t do this,” she finished. “It would be completely inappropriate.”

  “Right. I could lose my job.”

  “And I’m not looking for complications.”

  He nodded. “So, for now I guess we should just agree to resist.”

  “Right,” she said, crossing her arms. “We’re adults. We don’t have to act on every…urge.”

  “It wouldn’t have happened if not for the close quarters,” he agreed.

  “As long as we try to avoid each other—”

  “And stay busy—”

  “This should work out—”

  “Just fine.”

  She inhaled, then exhaled slowly. “So…I suppose you want to see the rest of the house.”

  He nodded, but clearly was still preoccupied.

  Tamping down the vestiges of lust that still pulsed through her body, she ushered him down the hall to Wesley’s room on the left. Its bedroom window faced the front yard.

  “I remember the snake from before,” Jack said, eyeing the aquarium with Wesley’s six-foot python curled inside.

  “That’s Einstein,” she supplied from the doorway. “The bane of my existence, but Wesley adores the thing.”

  He fingered aside the blind that covered the window. “Same view as the living room.”

  He came back out into the hallway and she closed the door behind him. “And you’ve seen my room,” she said lightly, opening the door a few inches. “No windows.”

  “Uh-huh.” He gave her a teasing grin. “The day we searched the house and arrested Wesley, I thought your room belonged to a teenager.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks as she surveyed the childish white bed and matching dresser, chest of drawers and vanity.

  “It’s still the same as when your parents left, isn’t it?”

  She nodded as she closed the door. “We haven’t exactly had the money to redecorate.”

  “I think you’ve left things the same on purpose.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Irritated at how quickly the man could trigger a 180-degree mood swing, she led him farther down the hall to her parents’ bedroom and opened the door onto the dated decor that was perfectly frozen in time.

  Jack gave her a pointed look. “You were saying?”

  She heard him distantly, but like every time she opened this door—which wasn’t often—Carlotta was swept up in the past.

  The room was basically the way her parents had left it. When it had become clear that they were missing, the police had searched the room—the entire house—removing calendars, letters, photographs and financial records. She remembered righting overturned bottles on her mother’s vanity, picking up her father’s ties and returning them to his cherry-wood valet stand. A layer of dust coated most things, making them fuzzy and indistinct.

  “Wesley cleans in here sometimes,” she murmured, touching an empty picture frame that had once held her parent’s wedding photo. “In the weeks after they first left, I had to drag him out of here. He was convinced our parents were hiding somewhere, and would check under the bed and the closet compulsively.” She shook her head at the memory.

  “I’ve gone through the boxes of items that were removed from the house,” Jack said, walking around, opening and closing random drawers.

  Carlotta crossed her arms and hugged herself. “And did you find anything helpful?”

  “No.” He walked over to the closet door and opened it. H
er parents’ clothes were wedged inside and dozens of shoe boxes were stacked on the floor. “Looks like they didn’t take much with them when they left.”

  “That’s right. A few clothes and my mother’s good jewelry.” Apparently they’d wanted to cut ties with everything from their previous life—keepsakes, friendships, their children.

  “The car they were driving was found abandoned in Alabama, but there were no signs of foul play.”

  “Wesley was sure they’d been kidnapped.”

  “What happened to the car?”

  “Impounded, like mine,” she said with false cheer.

  He frowned. “It was never returned to you?”

  “It went back to the bank.”

  “Oh. When did you receive the first postcard?”

  Carlotta sighed. “We’ve been over this.”

  “Remind me.”

  “About six months after they first disappeared. It was postmarked Michigan.”

  “But you didn’t turn the postcard over to the police?”

  “No. I didn’t trust anyone.”

  “Not even Liz, your father’s attorney?”

  She smirked. “Especially Liz.”

  Jack must have picked up on her desire to change the subject because he strode to the window and opened the mini-blinds a sliver. “What about the neighbors on the other side? Did they know your parents?”

  “No. It’s a gay couple. They moved in about five years ago, so they never met my parents.”

  “I’ll set up a camera here, one in the living room and one in the kitchen. I can set up a monitor—to oversee everything—on the bar in the kitchen.”

  “Fine,” she said, feeling stiff and disconnected from the situation. Eager to leave the room that still smelled faintly of her parents, she turned to go.

  Jack clasped her arm, stopped her. “Hey.”

  His golden eyes pinned her to the spot like a butterfly being trapped for a bug collection. “What?”

  “Aren’t you a little excited at the possibility of seeing your parents again after all these years, of at least knowing that they’re alive?”

  Her chest felt constricted under an avalanche of emotion, compounded by Jack Terry’s confusing touch. Once again she considered telling him that her father had called her and Peter, but at this stage, it seemed pointless. In fact, lately everything seemed pointless. She exhaled slowly to steady her voice. “I just want all of this to be over, Detective. And just maybe my brother and I can get our lives back on track. Back to the way they were supposed to be.”

  His fingers tightened around her arm. “Do you really think you’d be happier if your life had continued on the path your parents had you on?”

  The sound of a car pulling into the driveway caught their attention. Carlotta’s heart beat wildly. Jack released her arm to discreetly lift one of the slats, then his mouth dove in a frown. “Speaking of history, your boyfriend is here.”

  20

  “I could kill him!” Wesley seethed, pounding his fist on the dashboard of the van. The image of his sister welded to Detective Jack Terry was burned into his brain.

  “Settle down,” Coop said, staring straight ahead to the road. “Breaking your hand won’t accomplish anything.”

  “And Carlotta—”

  “Is human, Wesley. And I’ve got a news bulletin for you—she’s also a woman. A damn good-looking woman who, by your own admission, has spent the better part of her life taking care of you.”

  Wesley ground his teeth. Nothing made him more angry than the truth.

  “Has it ever occurred to you that your sister might be lonely?”

  “Dude, I try not to think about my sister in that way.”

  Coop smiled. “I know. I have a sister. But like it or not, Carlotta has the right to have a life of her own. One that includes a man—”

  “Okay, enough already. I’m not a prude, I’m just questioning her taste. Here I was worried that she was going to go back to that asshole Peter Ashford, only to find her playing tongue-tennis with that cop.”

  Coop’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but she’s a full-grown woman and she has the right to make her own decisions.”

  “Even bad ones?”

  “Yeah, even bad ones.”

  “What if he…coerced her?”

  “Carlotta looks like she can take care of herself in that department and from where I was standing, she wasn’t exactly fighting him off.”

  “I just don’t get what she sees in someone like him.”

  “He did save her life in the Angela Ashford murder case.”

  “But he’s a jerk!”

  Coop shrugged. “Some women like guys with a hard edge—the gun, the badge, the bravado. They think it’s exciting, I guess.”

  “Where does that leave guys like us?”

  Coop looked over. “With lots of hobbies.”

  Wesley didn’t add that most of his anger toward his sister was rooted in the fact that she hadn’t told him that their father had called. Christ, even if she wasn’t sure it was Dad, she should have told him about it.

  Wesley’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to glance at the caller-ID screen and an involuntary smile curled his mouth.

  Coop slowed the van. “Is it one of your parents?”

  “No, my probation officer.”

  “Oh.” Amusement played on Coop’s face. “You’d better get it then.”

  Wesley connected the call, remembering to sound casual. “Yeah.”

  E.’s voice came over the line. “Is this Wesley?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wesley, this is Eldora Jones. How are you?”

  His eyebrows climbed. So the “E” stood for Eldora—nice. “I’m fine,” he said, fumbling. “Great, actually.”

  “Great?” She sounded puzzled. “I heard on the news that your sister died.”

  “Oh.” His stomach dropped with a thud when he remembered the lie he was supposed to be upholding. And if he divulged the truth to E., it might get back to the D.A. “Um…” He stalled for time to inject a believable note of sadness into his voice. “I mean great considering…what happened.”

  At his pitiful-sounding voice, Coop gave him a sideways glance.

  She made a mournful noise. “I’m so sorry, Wesley. I know that you and your sister were very close. I can’t believe how brave you’re being.”

  Brave? He sniffed. “That’s because I know that my sister is in a better place.”

  Coop’s eyebrow shot up.

  “Your entire family, gone,” she said tearfully.

  “Yeah,” he responded with a heavy sigh, “I’m all alone now.”

  Coop rolled his eyes.

  “Wesley, my heart is broken for you. Is there anything I can do?”

  He pursed his mouth—he hadn’t counted on the sympathy that would be coming his way once the news of Carlotta’s “suicide” got out.

  “I don’t know,” he began, wondering how much he could push his luck. All kinds of carnal images of E. comforting him cartwheeled through his mind.

  “I already arranged for your community service to be pushed back,” she said. “I called Mr. McCormick to let him know what happened.”

  Wesley frowned. If his community service was postponed, it would be that much longer until he could start delving into his father’s case records. In fact, Kelvin Lucas might cancel his community service altogether as part of the deal his sister had struck.

  Damn.

  “And I’d like to attend the service if you’re going to have one.”

  “Uh…I haven’t decided yet.”

  “I understand,” she said softly. “Will you let me know?”

  “Sure.”

  “And let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  A tiny pang of guilt stabbed his chest, then dissipated. “I will. Thanks for calling.” He disconnected the call, then flushed when he realized Coop was looking at him, shaking his head.
>
  “What?” Wesley demanded.

  “How hot is she?”

  Wesley considered lying, but changed his mind. “Very.”

  “Milking the situation a little, aren’t you?”

  “Might as well get something out of it.”

  “Seems to me you’re the one benefiting the most all the way around.”

  The words cut deep. Wesley bit down on his tongue until the blast of pain matched the level of his anger. “I didn’t make the deal.”

  Coop narrowed his eyes. “What are you going to do if your father contacts you directly?”

  Wesley turned his head away from Coop.

  “Wesley, answer me.”

  He looked back. “I’m not going to give him up.” Then he glared at Coop. “Are you going to tell the detective?”

  Coop didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then murmured, “No. It’s your family’s business.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Besides, maybe you’ll get lucky,” Coop said mildly. “Maybe he won’t make his presence known at all.”

  Wesley chewed on his sore tongue. “Are you saying that my parents won’t care that Carlotta’s dead?”

  “No—”

  “Because they care,” he cut in, hating the defensive squeak in his voice.

  Coop looked sympathetic. “I’m saying that maybe your dad will sense it’s a trap.”

  Wesley chewed on the skin around his thumbnail. That would definitely explain why his parents would stay away, because they did care, dammit.

  His phone vibrated again. He glanced at the screen and saw it was Chance calling. “It’s a friend. Do I have time to take this?”

  “Yeah, we’re still about five minutes away from our pickup. In fact, after this one I can take you back home if you want.”

  Wesley made a face. “No way I’m going back as long as that cop is there.” He connected the call. “Hey buddy, what’s up?”

  “Man, I just heard about your sister. Fuck, I’m sorry as hell.”

  “Oh. It’s okay, man.”

  “Did she really take a dive off the Seventeenth Street bridge?”

  “Uh…yeah.”

  “Christ, did you have to view the body?”