Salsa Nights

by Salsa Nights (lit)

  A hand reached to her instead, and a moment later, she was breathing again. Warm, humid, delicious air. She sucked it in and collapsed against a steel body that moved quickly and held on to her protectively. Water came out of her lungs in strangled coughs, deep and painful, but she was barely aware of it, barely aware of anything.

  Then she was on her back and someone dripped water on her. She blinked, turned her face to the side, and coughed some more. A minute later, she was carried to a familiar lounger, and she knew she was safe.

  “Isabel? If you can hear me, I’m going to kill you,” Brad told her in a strange voice. It was kind, gentle, loving.

  No, she was imagining things. She’d nearly drowned. Of course Brad would be yelling.

  “Jesus. Isabel, can you hear me?”

  “My hearing’s fine,” she mumbled, sitting up.

  Brad had been sitting on his haunches and now rose to his feet. He was soaking wet and more beautiful than she’d seen him before. And very angry.

  “Isabel, what were you thinking? It’s getting dark, and there’s a storm out—”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, Brad,” she spat, coming to her feet.

  “Then start acting more responsibly,” he snapped back.

  She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him. “There was nothing irresponsible about wanting an afternoon swim. Just like there is nothing irresponsible about wanting to go to work.”

  “You could have gotten yourself killed,” Brad roared.

  “I can take care of myself,” she lied, pulling her matted hair away from her face.

  Brad snorted. “There’s a killer out there hell bent on finding you for some reason. And you decide to go swimming out in rough waters—”

  “They were not rough.”

  “Why did you go out there?”

  She planted her hands on her hips and sighed heavily. “Because I needed the space.”

  “Space?” He looked at her like she hit her head on the tile floor inside.

  “Yes! I’m tired of being cooped up in here. I’m tired of two men dictating my life. I’m tired of sitting around waiting for this psycho to find me and kill me.” Isabel’s volume rose with each statement, until she shouted the final words.

  “So what do you suggest? Go out there for him to find you?” Brad asked sarcastically.

  “I want to go out there and live my life. If he finds me then maybe we can stop him.”

  “I promised your grandfather I’d—”

  “Oh, I don’t want to hear about my grandfather and your promise to him. He killed an innocent man then asked two guys to watch over me, so what does that say about him? I just want my life back.”

  She left him standing by the pool, and she told herself the stricken look on his face wasn’t real. And it wouldn’t bother her either. She saw it when she told him she wanted to live her life.

  She meant it. She missed her freedom, going out with the girls, coming and going as she pleased, but some psychotic killer now knew where she was staying. She couldn’t take this any longer.

  She threw herself across the bed, not caring if she dripped on her beautiful comforter. But she couldn’t cry. It might help relieve this horrible tension, but the tears wouldn’t come.

  It was anger she felt. Anger because two friends were dead. Anger because it was her the killer wanted, but he toyed with her, stalked her, killed her friends to show her he could. He wanted her to suffer just knowing how she would die. Anger because she could do nothing about the killer or her friends, except for Nik. Anger because she was feeling so much for two men who would never care for her. Anger because as soon as the killer was caught, she’d go home. Alone.

  Not since her parents’ deaths had everything in her life been out of her hands. And never had she been able to count on a man, to trust a man. But Brad had been there to pull her from the depths of the sea. And Dale consistently stood up for her when Brad fought her.

  Don’t fall for it, Isa. They’ll disappoint you. They would, in time. She remembered what she’d told Nik—she was just a promise they felt honor-bound to keep. Brad even brought that up tonight.

  She may not be able to get a grip on things right now, but she would. This would all end soon, one way or the other. She’d walk out of here with her pride. Whatever she felt was a combination of her childhood feelings and the connection to two men who protected her. That was all.

  She rolled onto her back, some of the tension easing off her shoulders. That made perfect sense. It was overwhelming—the sex, the fear, the fighting. It was one roller coaster after another, and she was just reading things into it that were not there. It was adrenaline and the feeling of being protected. It was nothing.

  Confident she was right, she prepared for a shower. Really, how could she actually fall for a playboy like Dale? The man knew how to seduce. Heck, he’d perfected the art of seduction, right down to flashing his dimples at just the right time to make a woman swoon. So what if her heart palpitated when he entered the room? So what if she almost told him she loved him when he’d made love to her in the shower at the studio? Or that every time he smiled at her he erased every fear, every doubt she’d ever held about men? She had been drunk with lust, captivated by his sensual skills as a lover.

  Brad was so overwhelmingly arrogant and controlling, always finding a new way to dominate her. He was a machista who would probably love to keep his woman in the house day and night tied to his bed. Hell, he’d even threatened her with that one. Okay, so she dreamed about being the one woman who could tame him, who could break down those damn walls around his heart and teach him to trust, to care, to love. Because, damn it all, when he held her in his arms, there was no chance that anything would ever hurt her again. When his gaze penetrated her eyes, he looked deep, deeper than anyone ever had, and saw her, Isabel Santos, the scared, awkward kid with annoying big boobs who’d been shunned by her father, who needed protection. Acceptance. Love.

  But it didn’t matter. None of it did, because it was all a result of her lack of experience with men, her naïveté, and the hormones surging through her body at her first real experience with sex.

  How silly of her, thinking she was actually falling for two men.

  * * * *

  Dale took another swig of his beer. He never drank at work, but then he hadn’t been this upset or worried about anyone in a long time.

  Isabel didn’t come out of her room last night except to tell them she wanted to be left alone. So he’d been up pacing most of the night with Brad. His friend was still beating himself up, wondering how the hell he hadn’t noticed her head to the beach sooner. Dale had never seen Brad so angry and terrified at the same time, not that he’d felt any different himself.

  Dale tossed the bottle in the trash and reached for another in the small refrigerator. Thinking of losing her had been the worst moment of his life. His dad dying had been painful. Cancer took his life when Dale had been just twelve. But it had taken the disease almost a year so he’d had time to adjust. So when the time came, it wasn’t a shock. But thinking Isabel had taken her last breath, and he hadn’t been there holding her.

  He’d drunk half the bottle when someone knocked on his door. Bobbi, his confidante at the police station, stepped in wearing a tight pencil skirt and a sleeveless blouse.

  “Hey, you look terrible. Want to talk about it?” She put down some papers to touch his arm.

  He shook his head, taking a seat on the couch. She sat next to him, her eyes wide and her head tilted to the side.

  “Just a long night. What do you got?”

  She sighed, reaching for the papers and putting them on his lap. “Inconclusive. The person who sent the note wore gloves and used a sponge for the stamp. No prints, no DNA. The chances are they’ll find the same results for the second letter. I’ll let you know. I’m sorry.”

  He leaned back and closed his eyes. It wasn’t a surprise, but it was infuriating. He’d learned of the second message last night. Brad
found the note after Isabel stormed to her room. He’d picked up her duffel bag from where she’d dropped it on the living room, and the letter fell out. The fucker had the balls to mail it to their home. Their home.

  “I’ve missed you, Dale. It’s been a long time,” she purred, rubbing his knee.

  He groaned, too tired to deal with this. He and Bobbi had gone out a couple of years ago, but she wanted to focus on work, and he wasn’t ready to settle down. He sat up and looked at her. She was stunning, no question about it—dark red hair, large breasts, tall, slim. But all he could see was black hair, green eyes, and a luscious body made for him. Damn. He really did love her.

  “I’m sorry, Bobbi. You’re an amazing person, but—”

  “Oh, my God. Are you in love?”

  He chuckled at her incredulous expression. “That obvious?”

  She giggled. “Well, really, how many times have you ever turned a woman down?”

  Dale smiled. “I’m sorry. You know I care about you. But, yes, there is someone.”

  She shook her head. “Lucky lady. She must be real special. So does she love you?”

  His smile faded, and he glanced at the papers on his lap. “I’m working on it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brad couldn’t handle the silent treatment another second. She’d ignored him all day, constantly doing something to make herself seem too busy to deal with him. Even this morning, when he noticed her ready for work, she’d turned her head and avoided even accidentally looking in his direction. Between eating breakfast, cleaning up, and scribbling on a notepad while she waited for him, she was really trying too damn hard.

  But heaven knew how he admired her. He could barely stand to look at himself in the mirror after nearly losing her last night, and she had bounced back like she’d tripped and needed a band-aid on her knee.

  Shit, thinking about seeing her coming up for air, pumping his legs in the water, praying, begging to get to her on time, seeing her lifeless body sink.

  He shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair. Isabel didn’t notice. She stared out the window at the passing beach. He couldn’t look at the sea just yet. It had almost taken his princess.

  He pulled into the garage, and Isabel was halfway out the door before he even parked the truck. But she wasn’t going to keep hiding. It was time to have a little talk.

  “Isabel, come here,” he barked a bit too roughly as she headed toward her room.

  When she turned blazing eyes on him, he decided to ignore what it did to his insides and pointed to the kitchen table.

  His dick jerked, as usual, when he looked at her. She had worn a red tank top and long black skirt today. He’d been so hard for her all day, he almost jerked off in the back. But not wishing to get caught by some little girl looking for the bathroom, he suffered in horny agony all day.

  He seriously considered knocking down the bathroom door she’d locked to take a shower, but figured she’d beat him over the head with a splintered piece.

  “Well, there you go again. Should I refer to you as sergeant?” she stated frostily.

  “We need to talk. Sit down. Please.”

  She eyed him but slowly sat across from him.

  “Your grandfather didn’t kill an innocent man,” he started, getting right to the point. She rolled her eyes, but he continued. “Remember the woman I told you Dale and I were seeing? The one who turned out to be seeing someone else?”

  At her curt nod, he continued. “This all happened before your parents died. Dale and I brought that woman here, to this house, and we ended up in my room. Sometime later, a man came in the house, pointing a gun at us. He was drunk and yelling, and we soon realized he was her boyfriend. He aimed at Dale and said he’d kill us both while she watched but I managed to grab my gun and fired just as he shot at Dale. The boyfriend didn’t make it.”

  Isabel covered her mouth with one hand, and her eyes watered.

  “When he fell we noticed Thomas standing in the doorway holding a gun aimed right at the man. In one of those perfect timing moments, your grandfather had walked in the house, like he was always welcome to, to return something he’d borrowed and heard all the shouting. He knew I kept a gun in my office, grabbed it, and, well, took the shot. Neither one of us missed.”

  Isabel shook her head and Brad went on. “The cops came and recognized your grandfather as the decorated retired officer who still volunteered with them. It didn’t take anyone long to figure out it was self-defense, thanks to Thomas’s and the woman’s testimonies, and the case was soon dropped. Years later, when he became sick, he asked us to watch over you. We unequivocally agreed, knowing we owed him our lives. It may have been a coincidence that he walked in at the right time, but the truth is we would have faced some type of murder charge if he hadn’t. That asshole Senator Mitchell was a hot-headed prosecutor at the time and trying to make a name for himself. He was stirring a lot of trouble, saying we should have been charged, tried, and convicted because the victim had been drunk and not in the right state of mind. But with Thomas in the picture, no one paid him much attention. When we told your grandfather we’d watch over you, he told us why he feared for you.”

  He shifted then, knowing this was the hard part, but she had to know. “Around the time of the shooting he had been growing suspicious of your father’s activities, his late nights. He grew tired of watching his daughter—your mom—cry and suffer. So he had your father followed and learned he was having an affair.”

  Isabel still didn’t say a word, so he went on. “He couldn’t tell your mom because by that time your father found out what Thomas was up to and used what he heard Mitchell tell the media to convince her Thomas had killed an innocent man. She stopped talking to Thomas so he never got a chance to tell her. When your parents were killed, Thomas certainly didn’t believe it had been caused by your mother in a moment of rage. He fiercely believed your parents were killed by someone else.”

  He stopped, waiting for a reaction. She looked at him, lowered her hand, and blinked.

  “By whom?” she asked in a strained whisper.

  “Thomas found the only witness. An old woman living in the house by the field where the car flipped. She told him there had been a young man there after the accident. He drove up behind them, got out of his car, looked in your parents’ car, then drove off. Of course, she didn’t know what type of car or what the man looked like from a distance. But Thomas felt he was connected somehow.”

  She shook her head. “Another dead end. But you mentioned an affair.”

  He coughed. “Yes. Thomas had the feeling it was either a jilted husband of a woman your father had an affair with, or a contract killer hired by one of his mistresses. Either way, your grandfather believed if the killer was willing to murder your mother and your father, he may be after you, too. It may sound like paranoia to some people, but he was foremost a cop. Since you refused his phone calls and visits, sometimes he’d park down the street to catch a glimpse of you. He said twice someone else was watching you, but when he tried following the guy, he’d lose him before getting any sort of identification.”

  Isabel shook her head, looking so small at the moment Brad ached to hold her, to make her feel better. “Why would someone come after me for what my father did?”

  He sighed. “Who knows? It takes someone really sick to do what this man is doing. When he’s caught, hopefully we’ll learn the truth.”

  Her eyes met his then. “And what if we can’t catch him? What if—”

  “No,” Brad roared, slamming his fist on the table. He stood and came to kneel by her side, taking her soft hand in his. “We’ll get him, Isabel. He won’t hurt you. I swear to you, I will not let him hurt you.”

  She turned and cradled his face in her hands. Her eyes were carefully guarded, revealing little but the strength of the woman before him.

  But for the briefest moment, Brad felt a flicker of admiration, of, no, he didn’t dare hope it was this emotion he was recently
beginning to define as love.

  The air thickened with a wave of lust and need, carrying an undercurrent of wild surrender. It was raw. It was now. And then she looked at his mouth. His princess yearned for him. The floor felt as if it had crumbled beneath Brad. He was falling, and this time she was reaching for him. Her head lowered, her lips parted, and she kissed him.

  It was electric. Only her kiss could have the power to charge every cell in his body and make him feel like a man, whole, strong, and complete. And right now, he needed her to know him, only him. He needed to be the only one touching her, giving her pleasure, making her moan and quiver and cry out.

  Her tongue drew his into a dance of lovers. Entwined, passionate, she needed him, and he responded. They breathed hard, they tasted, and each knew what the other wanted.

  Her mouth left his, and her thumb grazed across his lip like he’d done to her so many times. Did she know what that touch had meant to him? What he’d told her each time his fingers touched her lips?

  He pressed his head against her chest. Mangoes and coconuts. He smiled as her familiar scent engraved in his soul. His hands wrapped around her waist. Her fingers laced in his hair. He raised his head and dropped a kiss on her nipple, already peaked under the red fabric. A moan escaped her throat.

  He needed to be inside her. He curled his fingers over the elastic band of her skirt. Isabel lifted her bottom, and he slowly pulled the skirt off, tossing it to the side. He focused on her smooth legs, brushing his fingers up her slim ankles, her shapely calves, her soft knees. He pushed them apart and continued his exploration up her lean thighs.

  Her fingers gripped him tighter as his mouth came down to her inner knee, dropping a hot, wet kiss on her silky skin before running his tongue higher, higher, to mid-thigh. She inhaled deeply and dropped back against her chair. He repeated this on her other leg. As he neared mid-thigh, his hands cupped her ass and brought her closer, right to his waiting mouth.