Love at High Tide

by Christi Barth

  “Practically nothing,” he admitted. “But those three degrees of yours have got to open other doors. I mean, look at what your friend’s done.”

  “Trina? She’s not the best example. After switching majors I don’t know how many times, she finally dropped out of college. Tried and rejected more careers than there are, oh, I don’t know, flavors of ice cream.”

  “You’re focusing on the wrong thing. She impressed me today. That scheme to question one of Ivan’s marks? Good, solid work. Unorthodox, and she still needs to be trained, but she may have found her calling.”

  It didn’t take much to connect the dots he’d laid out. “So if an unqualified, perennial career chaser like Trina can actually be satisfied and good at a job, why can’t I have both?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Wow.” How’d he do that? Literally erase the only reality she could see and draw a new one? Was it all his investigative training? Always looking outside the box, trying to cover every angle? Coop made it all so simple. Darcy had been beating her head against the proverbial wall about this job in Africa for months. She couldn’t see a way out because she hadn’t bothered looking for a door. Just a shift in mindset. Look at the possibilities instead of the obstacles. “Maybe you should implement a life change, become a career counselor.”

  The wall of muscle pressed against her back tensed. “We’re working on you today, not me.”

  The ice in his tone drove through her like a spike. Guess he wasn’t ready to turn that introspective mirror on himself. Darcy was grateful enough to let it slide for now. “Well, I can’t begin to thank you for that brilliant advice. Or maybe I can.” She spun in his arms to face him. “I think you should charge me a fee. Payable on the spot.”

  Coop ran his hands down her sides, lightly frisking her. “Hmm. I don’t see any place in that bikini you could be hiding a wallet.”

  “I thought maybe I could pay you back in a more personal way. Really show you my appreciation.” Darcy put her palms flat on his muscled chest. A light mat of golden hair tickled. Her mind fast-forwarded, imagining how it would feel pressed against her breasts.

  “Darcy, that’s not necessary.” He sounded serious. Had she read the signals wrong?

  “Oh, well, if you’re not interested—” She tried to push back.

  Coop handcuffed her wrists with his hands. “Don’t you move a muscle. I’m interested. I’ve been interested in you since the first moment we met. Yet another time you were pressed up against me, half-naked. I just want to be sure you know I was teasing about payment. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

  The caption under his picture in his high school yearbook probably read too good to be true. Or maybe it was the Secret Service training, instilling manners suitable to deal with dignitaries, edged with a military crease. Except Darcy didn’t want him to be polite. She wanted Coop to unleash all that coiled strength and have his way with her. And she didn’t want to wait another day, or risk another interruption, before having him.

  Well, she could think of one way to jump-start past the gentlemanly concern. Darcy tilted her hips forward and rotated them in a circle, grinding against him. “Does that feel obligated or interested to you?”

  His eyes burned with the deep, smoky blue of a chemical flame, hotter and more potent than regular fire. “It feels...sandy.”

  “What?” Could he be that much of a neat freak? Or maybe a germaphobe? Would he really reject her pretty blatant offer of sex just because she hadn’t rinsed off?

  “You were right. We’re both covered with sand.” Coop kept a hold of one wrist and pulled her through a different door than they’d used before. They hustled through a bedroom decorated in nautical blue and white, but that was all she could tell before they entered the similarly themed bathroom. He rifled through a black leather toiletries bag on the sink, then waved a condom in the air.

  “We need a shower. Get rid of all this sand. Since it’s summer, there’s a drought.”

  Three hurricanes in the last three months along the Eastern seaboard kind of belied his statement. “Where?”

  “Okay, not in Maryland, but I’m sure it’s dry in Texas or somewhere. We should conserve water. Shower together.” Without waiting for her to respond, he cranked on the water in the large, glassed-in shower.

  Geez. When Coop had good ideas, he really got on a roll. Darcy reached for the tie at her neck.

  “Let me. I’ve been fantasizing about doing this.” He grinned at her, and Darcy caught a glimpse of the wild animal she’d knowingly unleashed. Warm breath fanned over her neck as he dropped his head behind her shoulders. With his teeth, he tugged on the string tie. His lips grazed her skin. Chills, seemingly impossible hot chills that she’d never known could happen, raced up and down her spine. He caught the sides of her top with his thumbs before it slipped down.

  “In you go.” Once the glass door clicked shut, Darcy stood in the warm spray. It mostly hit her back, but a few wet trails cascaded down her chest, instantly pebbling her nipples. Coop sucked in a breath at the sight.

  “You’re getting a head start. I’d better get right to it.” He let her top fall to the tiles. With one hand he soaped, and with the other he mimicked every motion. Slow circles around her breasts. Long swipes down to her navel. Then a switch, to lather the other side. On fire, Darcy tried to arch her nipples into his touch. “Not yet,” he said in a husky warning.

  Coop dropped to a crouch. After another talented tug of his teeth, the bottom of her suit joined the top. She anchored her hands in the blond hair she’d swear had lightened at least a shade in the last three days. Then he began running the soap in patterns up and down her legs. Between his feather-light touch and the pinpricks of water on her back, Darcy’s skin felt over-sensitized. Every swipe of the soap sent cascades of heat through her entire body. They hadn’t even kissed yet and she hovered on the brink of orgasm.

  Quickly he shucked his trunks. Darcy double-blinked to clear the water from her eyes. He was the living embodiment of every naked male statue she’d ever goggled over, from Greece to Egypt to Italy. Twice as tan, though, and seemingly ten times as hard. Ridges of muscle lined his abdomen. Thighs that looked like wide enough to support the freaking Chrysler building were slightly paler, missing the gold-dust tan that covered the rest of his body. And between them stood the honest-to-God largest penis she’d ever seen. Long, thick, deep red and standing straight out, straining towards her.

  She wanted it. She wanted him. Now. Darcy grabbed the condom off the top of the door and ripped it open with her teeth. At her first touch, his hips bucked forward. Nice to know he was as revved up as she was. In a hurry, she rolled the condom down his length.

  “I said, not yet,” he panted between gritted teeth. Without any of the care he’d taken with her, Coop briskly palmed the soap across his body. Then he swiveled her until her back was against the blue tiles. Ever so slowly, he rubbed against her. Thanks to all the lather, they glided across each other with warm slickness.

  Darcy’s eyes almost popped out of her head. Or maybe they rolled backward. She just knew she’d lost the ability to see as sensations buffeted her from, yes, head to toe as he finally drew her into a kiss. A wet, salty, tangy kiss that didn’t remotely resemble the tender ones he’d given her the night before. This kiss was all heat and possession and the taking she’d craved. Moaning, she clawed her hands through his hair.

  Hands anchoring on her ass, Coop lifted her. Darcy didn’t need any more of a hint. Trusting in his obvious strength, she wrapped her legs around his waist. One hard thrust and they were joined. With the slick cushion of soap between them, there was still constant gliding and friction everywhere they touched. But all the pulls of passion from each limb centered in the pulsing between her legs.

  Coop set a steady rhythm, driving into her with a strength she welcomed. Hard, fast, tireless, he fill
ed her over and over and over again. The fullness grew, spreading outward like a supernova of heat and thrill and satisfaction. Shouting his name, Darcy broke into a white-hot cascade of pure, physical joy. A few more hard pumps and Coop joined her with a guttural groan. He buried his face in her neck, gasping for air as if he’d just run a marathon. Huh. Maybe even his super-human strength had its limits. She reset her feet on the tile. It would be nice if he could catch his breath without worrying about dropping her.

  “Woman, you drained me.”

  A spurt of female satisfaction rolled through her. Knowing she’d fulfilled him made her want to purr like a kitten. And then lick him clean all over. “Does that mean you’re not up for a second round? Because I didn’t begin to touch my fill of you.”

  Coop straightened, then nudged her under the center of the spray. “It means that I can’t go again in the shower. However, there’s a bed about twenty feet away calling our names.”

  She rinsed his chest with her hands, then cranked off the water. “A bed, huh? I just spent too many months on a camp cot. A real bed is still the height of luxury to me.”

  Hurrying, the first sear of passion barely sated, they blotted more than dried off and rushed into the bedroom. Again, Darcy caught no more than a glimpse of navy blue walls with white trim before her whole world became his cocky grin. Coop had her flat on her back in a blink, sprawling across her.

  “How’s this?”

  “Heaven.” No exaggeration. Entirely relaxed, thoroughly happy and thrilled to her core, nothing could make this moment any better.

  “Guess this is as good a time as any to ask.”

  “Ask what? ’Cause right now, after the awesome sexing you just did, I’d give you anything. I’d run out and learn how to speak all twenty Mandarin dialects if you asked.”

  “Good to know.” Coop slowly fanned her wet hair out on the pillow, using his fingers as a comb. “If I admit to being a selfish bastard, will it drive you away?”

  “Depends. Are we talking hogging-the-remote selfish? Which is bad, by the way. Or uses-up-the-last-of-the-coffee selfish? Which, for the record, would make me run out of here faster than an Olympic sprinter.”

  “I said you shouldn’t go back to Africa. Wrong move for you.”

  Darcy scrunched her face up tight, then released it, like letting off a pressure valve on a steam pipe. “I know. I think I’ve known all along. I was just afraid to admit it to myself.”

  “Well, it’s probably just seventy percent the wrong move for you. The other thirty percent? That’s because it’s the wrong move for me.” His gaze bored into her like a blue laser. “I don’t want you to go. No, I don’t want to let you go.”

  “Oh, Coop—” she began, not really knowing what to say next. Because who could think when the most amazing man in the world put his heart on a doily-trimmed silver tray and offered it to her?

  “You’re more than entitled to a post-thesis fling. But I want to be more than that. I don’t want to let someone so sweet and smart and loyal slip away. Definitely not all the way to another continent. A commuter relationship between D.C. and New York is hard enough. But no way could we sustain something this new across an entire ocean. So I know you can’t figure me into your plans. Not after just three days. But I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I didn’t at least tell you.”

  Darcy wanted to smother him and kisses and promise to stay. To tell him how she could barely breathe with the joy of his statement. It wouldn’t be fair, however, to say anything like that until she knew if she could promise him anything more than a beach fling. Instead, she asked, “Does this mean I’ve earned the right to know your favorite food?”

  Coop inch-wormed his way down her body until his warm breath feathered over her navel. “Fondue. Something about getting to play with your food and all the warm gooeyness—it can’t be beat.”

  “How very metrosexual of you.” She giggled. And then, as his tongue lapped at her, Darcy couldn’t giggle anymore. All she could do was moan.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I can’t believe you didn’t let me wear the wig,” Trina groused as they slid into a red leather booth at the back of the restaurant. True to its name, the Red Terrapin boasted red, well, everywhere. Red carpet stamped with little gold turtles. Red turtle salt and pepper shakers. Red wallpaper. That is, what Darcy could see between the enormous plasma screen televisions taking up most of the wall space. She counted thirteen already, each showing a different sports channel. It was the first time, outside of an Olympic year, that Darcy had ever seen badminton televised. The Red Terrapin elevated the term sports bar to a whole new level.

  “Which wig?”

  Trina threw up her hands. “Any of them. We’re on a stakeout. And then we’ll do my first official interrogation of a witness. If I can’t be in a trenchcoat and carrying a magnifying glass—”

  “Right. Because that wouldn’t make you stand out when the most anyone here is wearing is a tank top. We’re at the beach, not skulking down an alley in Red Square.”

  “—then I should at least be in disguise.”

  “Last time you wore a wig it tripped you.” Darcy didn’t want to be a joysucker. On the other hand, Trina rarely thought in practical terms unless someone else pointed them out.

  “We’re sitting down. How would a wig trip me now?”

  Lacking a good answer, Darcy motioned for a waitress. “We should order. We’ll look less suspicious with food on the table. Plus, it’ll keep them from kicking us out.”

  “What do you think mystery girl would like? I mean, the potato skins here are terrific. They double cheese them, on the bottom, then sour cream and bacon, then another layer on top. If she doesn’t come right at five, though, they won’t be hot. So we should order some chips and salsa, too. Beer and a margarita and a frozen daiquiri. She’ll have to like at least one of those. Everyone does.”

  She’d rattled off that monologue faster than Darcy could blink twice. “Trina, are you nervous?”

  “A little.”

  “Don’t be.” She squeezed her best friend’s hand. “We’re in this together. And Cooper and Brad are in the booth right behind us, remember? We couldn’t be safer.”

  “I know. I’m not nervous about Ivan showing up. If he did, I’m pretty sure the guys would break his big fat nose.”

  “Then what’s got you babbling? More than usual, I mean.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, Trina slowed herself down. “I don’t want to screw this up. Ivan hit me. Didn’t even phase him. I bet it wasn’t his first time. Chances are good he’s raised his hand to one of these girls. Whatever the reason, whatever his secret, it needs to stop. I don’t want to let them down.”

  Darcy couldn’t be prouder of her friend. “Your heart is bigger than that whole ocean out there. We’ll find a way to make a difference, I promise.” And really, that wasn’t any different than what she was trying to do with the string of letters after name. Or Coop, putting his life on the line to save someone else’s.

  Their buzzer went off. They’d prearranged with the hostess to let them know when somebody tried to enter with their pretend coupon. Moments later, she led over a girl with hair the color of Nebraska wheat swishing down to her waist. A cropped white tee showed off the glint of a belly ring and lots of tan skin above the waist of a faded jeans mini. Best of all, she didn’t look the least bit suspicious. She greeted them with an open smile and a friendly half-wave.

  “You here for coupon, too?” she asked in a thick, Eastern European accent.

  “Yep. Take a seat. Would you like a drink? A beer? Maybe a margarita? We’re thinking of ordering potato skins, ourselves. You look hungry, though, so maybe a burger, too?” Trina was off faster than a racehorse on Derby day.

  “I like gin and tonic. I like the fizzies on my nose.” She giggled, and def
initely looked a few years shy of the legal drinking age. Darcy reminded herself that people in Europe started much younger. They weren’t really contributing to the delinquency of a minor. The fact that two police officers were seated just inches away didn’t stop her from ordering a round for the whole table, along with the potato skins to shut Trina up on the subject. As soon as the waitress left, Darcy decided to slow roll into the meat of the conversation. Otherwise Trina might just jabber her way through a recitation of the entire menu.

  “I’m Darcy, and this is my best friend, Trina. What’s your name?”

  “Ilona.”

  “Unusual, but pretty,” Darcy hastened to add. “Where are you from?”

  “Moldova.”

  Trina dropped her elbows on the table and cradled her face. “Gosh, I don’t know anything about your country. What’s it known for?”

  “Nothing! We are poorest country in Europe. It is why I come to work in America.” She looked around the room. “I don’t see any studs yet. Is early. Lifeguards not done with shift yet. Maybe too early.”

  Ah. Guess the free food was the lesser part of the incentive for Ilona to show up. Trina had chosen the location well. She’d told Darcy it was the biggest pick-up joint in town. In case a hottie did walk in and catch her attention, they’d better work fast. “Ilona, do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

  “Sure.”

  Darcy waited for Trina to take the lead. After a couple of beats, she decided to charge ahead. “We saw you on the beach today. I, um, noticed your adorable blue and orange plaid bikini.”

  “Is cute, no?” Smugness warmed Ilona’s voice like a cup of hot cocoa on a rainy day. “I get asked out every time I wear it.”

  Aha. A perfect opening to bring up handsy Ivan. “Even today? Maybe by the older man we saw you talking to around lunchtime?”

  “The guy with the big, hairy belly,” Trina added, rounding her hands in the air.

  “No.” Ilona turned her head and spat on the floor. “I never date Pavel. He is a dog.”