Dead Calm

by Lindsay Longford

“You maybe could be my very, very young aunt, darlin’, but never my mama.”

  His smile slid from hopeful to rueful as she continued to shake her head decisively and said, “Thanks, but…no, thanks.”

  “Not my night, I guess. But, honey, you sure are one fine woman. My bad luck.” With a wave of his hand, he vanished into the smoke and music.

  Humming to herself, Sophie collected her purse and asked for a cup of coffee to go.

  “Cutter give you any trouble?” Gordon handed her the coffee carefully. “Because I can kick him out of my establishment, you know.” Gordon’s broad Polish shoulders hunkered over the bar.

  Sophie had a moment of concern for the blissfully ignorant Cutter. “Nope. He was just doing that Southern thang,” she drawled, “making a woman feel like a girl again. Nice, after a couple of really lousy days. Thanks, though.”

  Inhaling the coffee scent, she headed to the back door and the sand at the water’s edge to clear the smoke and alcohol fumes from her head.

  Fun and games were over. No way to avoid the inevitable now. Nowhere to go except home.

  To that very empty house.

  The feelings that had sent her to the hospital earlier in the day drifted in through the open door with the mist and fog off the Gulf. That sense of emptiness, of the house waiting for something, seemed to be a permanent awareness now.

  Standing in the shadows at the entrance to Catfish Charlie’s, Judah hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. Swinging in wide circles, her gauzy pink skirt flipped against her bare legs and tangled around her calves. Head thrown back, she danced with abandon, her body a fluid, shifting shape under the honky-tonk lights. He could hear the peals of her laughter as the wannabe stud twirled her around the floor, one arm glued around her waist, the other clamped to her hand. Her hair had gone all frizzy and wild, and her eyes glittered. Her legs flashed and scissored to the beat of the song.

  The woman he’d left head down on the table in the cafeteria hours ago was groovin’ and movin’ to Charlie’s band for the night, the music a throbbing invitation to low-down sex and wickedness.

  He didn’t exactly understand why that pissed him off.

  The music did its own beat inside him, through him, a smoky, rhythmic invitation, and all he could think about was the way Sophie had felt under him, around him, and he wanted her there again. Wanted her with such intensity he couldn’t take a deep breath, couldn’t think.

  Skin to skin, stuck together by salt water and passion—that had happened this morning. Not even twenty-four hours ago. Layers on layers of images blurring in kaleidoscopes of colors. This was how the dead must feel, lost souls hovering in a disembodied state where longing and need had no outlet, with all the color and richness of life out of reach. Caught between memory and desire, he believed those dawn moments must have happened in another lifetime.

  To a different man.

  Yet his skin remembered the touch of her. His mouth remembered her taste. Everything.

  With an ache he didn’t understand, he remembered most of all the fragile curve of her neck hours earlier as she’d laid her head down on that cafeteria table.

  But now in the hazy yellow lights of Catfish Charlie’s, she whirled in this dream-like dance, luminescent, with some other man touching her, breathing in the scent of her.

  With a guy in a cheap cowboy hat who didn’t have the right to… Judah stirred against the wall.

  Why was Sophie letting this, this kid wrap himself around her?

  The baby stud’s hand slipped to the curve of her butt. He looked like he’d died and gone straight to heaven.

  Judah blinked. The urge to punch the stud’s straight-toothed shiny smile to kingdom come and back galloped through him in a red haze.

  But he stayed where he was, watching Sophie, absorbing her delight while the raw sting of…something flicked inside him.

  She dipped backward, holding onto the guy in the cowboy hat but laughing so hard she lost her grip. But he caught her under the arms and lifted her up until her toes were clear of the floor. Laughing, too, he steadied her as he hip-bumped her over to a table where a slim red purse claimed her place. She collapsed into the chair he held for her and fanned herself rapidly with her hand.

  Judah couldn’t see her face, but he knew what the kid was asking, what he wanted from Sophie. The angle of his body toward her, the way her arm moved on the table, the jiggle of her foot as she listened—all told a story.

  Judah knew he shouldn’t care how the story ended. Sophie wasn’t his. She could do whatever, whomever, she wanted. But… He didn’t understand why it mattered so much to him whether or not she left with the guy.

  But since it did, and since he’d already gone way past any comprehension of his behavior on this strange day winding down into late night, he waited in the shadows while that prickling heat ran over his skin and through his gut.

  When Sophie rose and walked to the back door alone, Judah followed her. He didn’t allow himself to think. He simply followed the flicker and shine that was Sophie.

  And relished the rush of a righteous, pissed-off anger.

  Perched on the edge of the rocks that formed a breakwater against the moonlight-iced gulf, she held a cup in one hand. She’d dropped her sandals on top of her purse. Red on darker red and the drift of her pink skirt in the breeze.

  Sophie.

  How could a man not be drawn to the life in Sophie’s every movement, the vibrancy in that mobile face?

  No wonder the moth banged its wings madly against the flame, yearned to plunge into the heat that destroyed.

  What other choice was there?

  She didn’t even turn around as he stepped onto the breakwater behind her. “How did you know I was here, Judah?”

  “I spotted your car.”

  “Liar, liar.”

  “All right.” He wanted to yell at her for dancing with the kid, he wanted to…

  “Where’s your partner?” She gazed out to the thin horizon where dark met darker.

  Judah took a careful, small step toward her. “He went home after the call.” He didn’t want to think about the incident at the church. He was still unsettled by what had happened. “A prank.” He raised one shoulder dismissively. “When Tyree and I finished, I ran your plates. One of the island cops spotted your car.”

  “You ran my plates?” There was little curiosity in her voice, almost as if she’d expected him. Tipping her cup back, she drank deeply. “And so here you are.”

  “Yeah.” Her calmness ratcheted up the pissed-off factor one more notch.

  “Why?”

  Not answering, he took another step and caught her wrist. “How much have you had to drink, Sophie?”

  “I’m not drunk, Judah.” She rose and faced him. In the night wind her skirt lifted and floated around her, offering him a glimpse of skin-colored lace over smooth belly, and then the umbrella of her skirt collapsed around her. “See?” Tossing off his grasp, she flung her arms to the side and slowly, precisely touched the tip of each index finger to her nose. The foam cup slopped coffee onto the ground with her movements. “I can walk a straight line, too.” She took one long step off the breakwater and lurched into him, laughing. “Whoops!”

  His arms, with a will of their own, closed around her.

  The cup whispered against the rocks as it fell from her hand. The scent of coffee rose from her skin, tantalizing him. Her mouth would taste of that dark, rich brew.

  And all he could think of was the look of her all tangled up in that kid’s arms. The way she’d smiled at the boy, the way she’d laughed and tilted her head, opening up the line of her slim throat for the boy’s touch, maybe even his kiss.

  Wrapped against her now as close as the boy had been, Judah didn’t kiss her, not even with his mind hazing over with a self-righteous and welcome blind fury. “Why were you practically screwing that kid on the dance floor, Sophie?”

  “Because it felt good?” She laughed again, and the wind tossed her
fog-damp hair against him.

  “Oh, excellent reason.” Judah ran the back of his hand deliberately down the length of her neck and watched her eyes turn slumberous.

  She pulled against his grasp. “It’s as good as any.” Her laughter held an edge. “We were dancing. Having fun. Not that it’s any of your business. Do you even know what having fun means, Judah? Did you ever know?” She pulled harder and he tightened his grasp.

  “Fun?” Holding her wrists together between the two of them, Judah leaned forward. “He was sniffing you like a dog in heat.”

  “A puppy.”

  “A puppy with a hard-on and not enough good sense to keep his distance.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want him to.” In the changing light of the mist, her smile taunted him. “And don’t be crude.”

  “But cops are crude. Remember? That’s what you said about George. That he was a fat, crude cop.” Judah wanted her uncomfortable, but her chin slanted higher.

  Waves slopped against the breakwater.

  “But you’re not George, are you?” Her eyes were wide and knowing.

  “Maybe I am.”

  “I know you better than that.” She shifted restlessly. “You’re not like him. You’ve never been like George.”

  “You think you know me that well?”

  “Well enough.” Again she moved, fabric shimmered, and like tiny whips, her misty hair snapped against his wrists.

  “You should have left the boy alone, Sophie.”

  “But I didn’t want to. What’s going on here, Judah? Are you jealous?” she asked, and pushed him right over the edge into some territory he didn’t recognize.

  He reached behind him, grabbed his handcuffs off his belt and clamped them onto her wrists.

  “What on earth are you doing?” She glanced down at her hands. Mist sparkled against the metal of the cuffs. The links clanked together as she lifted her hands. Her eyes were huge and disbelieving as she stared at him. “You’re arresting me for felony flirting?” A grin touched her lips.

  “For once in your life, just shut up, Sophie. Let me think.” With his index finger jammed through the links, Judah pulled her toward him even as he wondered what in the hell he was doing.

  Sophie laughed at the serious expression on Judah’s face. She had an idea of what he was thinking, and the thought made her breathless. “This is crazy, Judah!”

  “For damned sure.”

  “I don’t understand. Are you drunk?”

  Huge and stunned, her gaze never left his face while the night wind murmured around them.

  Judah stooped, and so fast he didn’t even realize what he was doing, he hoisted her over his shoulder. He thought he was taking her to her car. He meant to, it was the only thing that made sense, but she wriggled and thumped his back with her cuffed hands until he stopped abruptly, letting her slide to her feet.

  They were at the far corner of Catfish Charlie’s, away from the back door. Not even thinking, he turned her toward the wall. Pine trees and the overhang of the building sheltered them from the skim-milk moon and pitched them into darkness, a darkness that grew more intimate and private with each rasping breath, each graze of skin as he braced her face forward against the wall.

  The music thumped through the walls and into the palms of his hands, an insistent beat.

  He felt as if he’d stepped into some alien world where nothing made sense, where all the rules he lived by had disappeared into silent mist and fog.

  She was warm, soft. He bent his knees, fitting himself closer to her, to the illusive warmth of her body.

  “What are you doing, Judah?” she whispered, and the faint sound slipped across his mouth, lingered.

  Cupped against her back with his mouth against her ear, he placed his palms on the cypress walls of Catfish Charlie’s, and then, precisely and in great detail, he told her exactly what he was going to do. And made her breathless all over again.

  “Here,” he said. And taking one palm from the wall, he slid his hand slowly down over her breasts and the gentle slope of her belly, past the curve of her hip and under the gauzy pink that shimmered ghost-like in the darkness. Bit by bit, brushing against secret skin, he edged her skirt up until he touched the thin line of lace he could no longer see but remembered. Bit by bit, he tugged until lace gave way completely to skin, warm, silky. And then, compulsively, he flattened the heel of his hand against her, stroking.

  A shiver rippled over her skin. Twisting, she stared at him over her shoulder. “In public? Like this?”

  “Yes,” he said. With one long stroke of his finger, he pressed upward, parting smooth folds. “Exactly like this.”

  Chapter 11

  Sophie was aware of the weight of the handcuffs on her wrists, aware of the vibrating wood boards against her cheek. Aware of Judah, so close against her that she could feel the shape of his buckle, the shape of him. So much heat surrounding her. Off in the distance the Gulf breathed against shore, took the night-pale sands into it and out on a long, sibilant sigh.

  In front of her the hard lumps of the metal handcuffs were caught between her stomach and the wall of Catfish Charlie’s. Up against a wall, captive to his touch, she felt like one of Judah’s perps, all power gone. She swallowed. “You’re…different Judah. You’re in some mood—”

  “What mood am I in, Sophie?” He tilted her head back toward him.

  “I don’t know. But you’re not acting like yourself,” she clarified, aware that even as she spoke, her body quivered to his touch.

  “No?” His fingers separated her, sent heat and dampness rushing where he touched and stroked. “Are you sure?” He touched his mouth to the pulse fluttering in her neck. “You don’t seem one-hundred-percent positive, Sophie. Persuade me,” he whispered and ran his thumb over her most sensitive spot.

  For a moment she wanted to turn around, to try and regain some control. But then she realized she didn’t want that control. She wanted this wildness, this feeling of no responsibility, no thought, this sense of going completely into the wilderness. Of letting him take control.

  She shook as night mist and fog whispered against her nipple. Insane, this pleasure he was giving her, this yielding to her darkest fantasy.

  “We’re having sex, Sophie. That’s all. Remember? That’s what you said earlier. Nothing more than sex. Sex didn’t mean anything between us. We were scratching an itch, that’s all.”

  “That’s not what I said,” she murmured, tingling at his soft touch.

  “No, you weren’t that crude.”

  “You know that wasn’t what I meant.” She understood now that she’d trivialized what she’d felt on the beach with Judah. “But this is different.”

  “We can stop if you want, Sophie.” He cradled her with his bent legs and belly, bracing her against the wall. “If you want to. Think you can?” he teased and took one step closer, one leg coming between hers.

  She inhaled, a shaky rasp of sound. She thought she felt him smile against her shoulder where his tongue left a warm, damp trail. The throb of the bass inside Catfish Charlie’s vibrated through the wall and into her breasts and belly. Against her fanny, his knee tight against her, Judah moved, a silent echo of the throbbing music.

  Pressure and touch and all this sensation. Trapped between hard wood planks and hard, aroused male. Helpless. Unable to control the pace of his movements, or hers.

  And yet—

  She moaned as he clasped her with his whole hand, pushing hard, his body and hand working her so insistently that everything was movement, heat and sensation, that pulsing rhythm driving through her body, taking over.

  She must have whimpered or murmured something because she heard Judah mutter, “Oh, Sophie,” against her ear.

  Some dim space of her brain registered the clatter of a door opening. Heard the click of a lighter. Saw the small red dot of a cigarette and understood that she was concealed by nothing more than darkness and the weight of Judah’s body. Then, faintly, she heard the faint snic
k of his zipper. With each second, everything except Judah’s touch and scent drifted away and vanished down the intense tunnel of her pleasure.

  Her skirt was bunched around her waist, her panties somewhere around her knees, and her bottom bare to the slide of Judah’s hand there, too. She gasped as his jeans scraped against her flesh, sensitized it to a different kind of touch even as he held her there in the most intimate of embraces.

  Helpless to do anything except feel.

  “You’re not running home?” he whispered.

  “No.”

  How had she never realized the power of surrender? Of yielding everything—her body, her control, her emotions—to someone else?

  She’d never wanted to.

  Each deliberate movement Judah made, each slow teasing slide down her spine and lower, owned her, dictated her response. Pure male, he held her, joined his body with hers in an act that was primal mating.

  He was big, strong, his muscles clamping her so close that, held open to his touch, she moved in concert with him. Smaller, more fragile, used to being in control of herself and others, she should have been terrified.

  But he seduced her with his determination. Seduced her with his intoxicating, raw desire. She knew she welcomed the hunger and desire in him, that it called to her soul in the most elemental way.

  Sinking further into pleasure, she thought there was something else, too, something she couldn’t analyze in the sensations swamping her. She would have to figure it out. Later. But not right now. Because it was seductive beyond anything she’d ever known to be wanted this passionately, this…recklessly.

  This uncontrollably. Because he was as out of control as he was making her feel.

  There were no limits.

  He twisted, moved and touched her in the deepest core of her femininity, holding the tension for long seconds, hours, for eternity, everything tightening unbearably. And then he gave one definitive, hard stroke.

  She lost control over her muscles, over everything, subject to his will, his touch.

  “Judah!”

  “Sophie,” he grunted. And then he thrust into her, stretching her and filling her completely.