by Radclyffe
Victor tugged at his leash, drawing her attention away from the hospital. Apparently, he was determined to get some precious object from under a wooden bench and all she could see was his rear end wiggling as he scrabbled for it.
“If you get stuck under there, buddy, we’ll need a crane to get you out.” Ali bent down and retrieved a soggy tennis ball for him, then resumed walking. Wherever Beau was, whoever she was with, was no concern of hers. Hell, the redhead was probably just one of her girlfriends. She wondered how Beau’s girlfriends felt about her seeing other women. She’d never dated more than one woman at once, or ever even dated a woman who was seeing other women. She thought about Heather, and Ellen before her, and—God, was it really going back over two years?—Donna. They’d all been bright, interesting, attractive women whose company she enjoyed. She didn’t feel the slightest bit of jealousy when she considered they might have been seeing other women while dating her. In fact, she’d rarely thought about them between dates. When she was with them, she had a good time. When the interludes ended, she’d gone back to her life with something close to relief.
She sat on a bench and stretched her legs out in front of her, Victor’s leash wrapped around her right wrist, her hands in the pockets of her pants. She studied the toes of her brown leather boots. Mary Ann Cipriani, an enthusiastically straight woman, thought Beau was worth a night on the other team. The redhead in the unit thought nothing of touching her in a proprietary way. Hell, even her male partner apparently had a crush on her. Who needed a woman who ignited the libido of anyone in sight?
“Not me,” she muttered. Victor tilted his head from side to side and she laughed. “Sorry, boy. My mind has gone off the rails for some reason.”
You stir me up.
Beau didn’t seem to mind admitting that, or maybe that was just another practiced come-on. Ali had to admit, though, the line had gotten her attention. The way Beau looked at her, her eyes all storm blue and broody, made her breath catch. Damn it, the woman was just too sexy to be safe. Ali spent nearly every waking moment trying to impose order on chaos, trying to preserve reason in the face of insanity. What she needed in her personal life was someone calm and steady, someone who wouldn’t threaten the careful restraint she kept on her emotions. Like Heather, or Ellen, or Donna.
“Yeah,” she sighed, getting up to go in search of arugula for Ralph. “Because they worked out really well.”
*
“You sure you don’t mind stopping by to see Bobby on the way?” Beau asked as she helped Jilly into her coat.
“Honey, you’re the one escorting me to this damn cocktail party at the last minute. And on no sleep, at that.”
“I slept enough.” She was exaggerating, but she didn’t think her sister really needed to know about her rocky afternoon. She’d tossed and turned, half asleep, drifting between icy terror as murky water closed over her head to hot, hazy erotic visions of her and a dark-haired woman tangled together, struggling toward a climax that never came. Finally, more exhausted than she had been when she’d lain down, she’d stumbled into the shower and stood under a scalding spray until she banished the lingering images of being pulled into the river with the vehicle and its unconscious occupants. She’d had to settle her body with a too quick, not too terribly satisfying orgasm of her own making. She was still edgy, a coil of tension throbbing in the pit of her stomach.
“I promise, we’ll just make a quick appearance and then sneak out.” Jilly hesitated. “I really could go by myself, you know. Brad and I were only going together to keep each other from being trapped and talked to death by some of our colleagues.”
“I can run interference.” Beau wrapped her arm around Jilly’s shoulders as they walked to Jilly’s Lexus. “Besides, I don’t feel like sitting around the house and Bobby doesn’t need my company tonight. He’ll probably be sleeping anyhow. I just want to check on him for a minute.”
“What about a date? Did you see the message I left on your dresser from Cynthia? She called while you were in the shower.”
Call me. We can have fun. Beau grimaced. “I got it.”
“Do I know Cynthia?”
“Ah…no.” If Beau were the superstitious type, she might think she had prompted the call from Cynthia because she’d been thinking about her earlier that morning. “She’s someone I met in Atlantic City.”
“I guess it wasn’t a long-term thing, huh?”
“Not really.” Beau grabbed the keys out of Jilly’s hand. She wasn’t going to tell her sister anything further about the cocktail waitress and their single night of wild sex. “I’ll drive.”
“You know,” Jilly said as she buckled up in the passenger seat, “I’m not sure I could have an orgasm with someone I just met. Do you think casual sex is easier with another woman than it is with a guy?”
“Jesus, Jilly,” Beau protested. “How would I know?”
“I don’t think I ever asked. Have you ever been to bed with a guy?”
“No,” Beau said, trying not to grind her molars. “It’s always been women for me. Can we not talk about sex?”
Jilly laughed. “Why not? We’re both adults.”
“Yeah, but you’re my sister.”
“Do you talk about sex with your firefighter friends?”
Beau pulled out and drove through West Philadelphia toward the hospital. “Not in detail. You know, just offhand kind of stuff. Bullshitting, mostly.”
“Is that another way of saying bragging?”
“I don’t talk about women that way,” Beau muttered, which was true, technically speaking. She didn’t contradict the guys when they made assumptions about her scorecard, but she didn’t get into specifics. Briefly, she thought of Ali and flushed with a surge of anger at the thought of any of her buddies talking about Ali the way they sometimes did about other women.
“Why are you scowling?”
“No reason.” Beau turned into the parking garage adjacent to the hospital and cut the engine. Swiveling in her seat, she regarded her sister. “What’s going on?”
“I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday afternoon,” Jilly said very quietly.
Beau sat absolutely still as a giant hand squeezed down on her heart so hard it hurt to breathe. She’d lived in fear of this moment for her entire adult life, and even though she thought about it every single day, she still wasn’t ready. “You didn’t tell me you were going.”
“I know. I knew you’d worry.”
“Jilly,” Beau murmured, “when are you going to let me take care of you?”
“That’s not how it works. I’m the big sister, remember?” Jilly smiled and then rubbed Beau’s thigh. “Besides, you had enough to worry about with Bobby.”
“You come first, Jilly. Don’t you know that?” Beau took a breath, steeling herself. “What did Dr. Lawrence say?”
“My viral count is undetectable. Not just in the plasma, Beau. In the mononuclear cells too.”
“Oh, fuck,” Beau gasped, her eyes flooding. She covered her face with one hand, shaking as tears coursed down her cheeks. “God, why didn’t you tell me right away?”
Jilly reached across the console and stroked the back of Beau’s neck. “It took me this long to convince myself I wasn’t dreaming. I half expected them to call and say they made a mistake. It’s too soon to be sure there won’t be blips, but…”
Beau dropped her hand and gripped Jilly’s shoulders. “Don’t say that. This is great news. This is the best news. Oh, God. Jilly!”
“I don’t want to say anything to Mom and Dad right away, okay?” Jilly said shakily. “Just in case, you know.”
Beau brushed Jilly’s cheek with her fingertips. “I’d give anything—anything at all—for you to be all right. Really all right.”
Jilly pressed her fingers to Beau’s lips. “I am all right. I’ve been all right all along.” She smoothed the tears from Beau’s face. “When are you ever going to believe that?”
“I’ll work on it,” Beau said, not wa
nting to dampen Jilly’s happiness. She doubted she’d ever be able to stop blaming herself, but that was her burden, not Jilly’s. “Come on, let’s go see Bobby so we can get to your shindig.”
*
“You don’t really look like a lawyer,” said a blonde in a red suit buttoned over a sheer white camisole as she joined Beau at the far edge of the noisy crowd.
Beau compared her black pants and plain white shirt to the tailored pantsuits and skirts and jackets of the other women in the room. “I guess I didn’t get the memo on the dress code.”
Laughing, the blonde held out her hand. Her fingers were slender and tipped with red nails the exact color of her suit. Beneath the hem of her skirt, her legs were long and shapely. Her champagne blond hair was shoulder length, framing an oval face set off by deep green eyes and full red lips. She was stunning.
“I’m Fiona Webster.”
“Beau Cross.” Beau took her hand and registered the slow arc of Fiona’s thumb as it swept rhythmically over the top of her hand. The invitation was subtle and refined. Her body registered the contact with a twitch of appreciation.
“So are you?”
“Am I what?” Beau asked. Interested? I’m breathing, so the answer is yes.
“A lawyer?”
“No. I came with one.”
Fiona pretended to pout, making no pretense of not flirting. “Don’t tell me I’ve missed out on the highlight of the evening.”
Beau grinned. “My sister.”
“Oh, good. She’s not with Ambler and Smith, is she?”
“No. Why?”
“Because that’s my firm, and I don’t like to play in my own backyard.”
“Very wise. Are we playing?”
Fiona moved closer, angling her body to hide her hand as she drew her fingers down Beau’s abdomen. She caught one of the buttons on Beau’s shirt between her fingertips and tugged it lightly. “I certainly hope so. I’m single, bi, safe, and currently without a date.”
Beau sipped her whiskey on the rocks and took a quick look around. No one was watching them. “I am unattached and like it that way.”
“Perfect.” Fiona deftly undid the button on Beau’s shirt and slipped her fingers inside. When Beau’s stomach tightened she murmured in approval. “Will your sister be terribly upset if I steal her escort?”
“I don’t think so.” Beau glanced down and watched Fiona’s hand stroke her abdomen through the opening in her shirt. Her stomach happened to be one of her hot spots, and she never failed to get excited when a woman touched her there. She was getting excited now, her clitoris tightening reflexively. Fiona’s fingertips skated over the scar that bisected her stomach from top to bottom, but she seemed not to recognize it for what it was. Even after so many years, the tissue was hypersensitive, but Beau was used to the discomfort. She wasn’t used to having a hard time getting her head in the game when a beautiful woman was coming on to her. Her body was responding but her mind kept drifting away. She felt Fiona’s fingers but she saw Ali’s. She’d never in her life thought of one woman when she was with another. She had always been in the moment, focused on making the most of shared pleasure.
Closing her hand over Fiona’s, she gently drew Fiona’s fingers from inside her shirt. “You can do better than me tonight.”
Fiona’s mouth quirked into a smile and she searched Beau’s face curiously. “You sure?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be. Can I give you my number?”
“Sure,” Beau said. “Thanks.”
Fiona took a card from a small purse that hung from a linked chain over one shoulder, scribbled something on the back with a fountain pen, and pushed it delicately into Beau’s pants pocket. “If the timing is ever better, I’d love to finish this.”
“Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks. I don’t think I’ll need it.” Fiona brushed a light kiss over Beau’s cheek and disappeared into the crowd.
A second later Jilly appeared by Beau’s side. “Am I imagining things or was she trying to pick you up?”
“You got the picture right.”
“How do you do it? I mean, is it some sort of chemical that just floats in the air around you, like catnip for women?”
Beau laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe I just look easy.”
“What you are is too good-looking for your own safety. Are you interested?”
“No.”
“Then I’m ready to go home, make a huge bowl of popcorn, and watch back-to-back episodes of Fringe until I can’t keep my eyes open. Want to join me?”
“Yeah,” Beau said, resigned to a night of unrequited arousal but oddly not minding all that much. “I do.”
Chapter Twelve
“We’re in the middle of a cocktail reception,” Beau whispered urgently when Fiona dragged her into the bathroom.
“Don’t worry,” Fiona gasped, leaning back against the closed door. She grasped her skirt, pulled it midway up her thighs, and yanked Beau forward by her belt. She pressed her center against Beau’s thigh and grabbed a handful of Beau’s hair in her fist. “When two women go into the bathroom together, no one ever thinks anything of it. And this won’t take long.”
Her tongue invaded Beau’s mouth, hot and firm and hungry. She made urgent sounds in the back of her throat as her fingers trembled against Beau’s neck. Beau braced both arms on the gray metal door to steady herself against the onslaught. The demanding thrust of Fiona’s hips and the crush of her hard-nippled breasts triggered every one of Beau’s switches and she got wet and hard and brainless in a heartbeat.
Still leaning on one arm, Beau slid her hand inside the red jacket and under the flimsy camisole to palm smooth, soft flesh. Fiona whimpered and jerked Beau’s shirt out of her pants. When Beau found Fiona’s nipple and squeezed, Fiona arched and her head banged back against the door.
“Do you want me to come?” Fiona whispered, her eyes closed and her expression almost pained.
“Yes.”
Fiona’s features swam across Beau’s hazy vision, disorienting and confusing her. She closed her eyes when Fiona grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand down between them, pushing Beau’s fingers between her thighs and inside her. Fiona jerked in her palm.
“Tell me to touch my clit,” Fiona urged, her nails digging into Beau’s wrist.
“Stroke it,” Beau said in a voice that she didn’t recognize.
Fiona’s fingers flew between her legs. Her head rolled from side to side, the muscles in her neck taut and quivering. She moaned and tugged at her lower lip with her teeth, brilliant white against blood red. Her hips lurched and her eyes blinked open, dazed and beseeching.
“Tell me not to come. Hurry.”
“Don’t come yet.”
“Oh, but I want to.” Her wrist was a blur. “I want to come, I want to. I can’t wait.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t!” Fiona climaxed violently in Beau’s hand. When the shudders stopped, she laughed and opened her eyes lazily. “Did you enjoy that?”
Beau didn’t answer.
“Did you get nice and hard watching me come?” Fiona slid her hand under Beau’s shirt, drawing slow circles on her belly with her nails.
Beau twitched and her left arm, still planted against the door, trembled.
“Do you need to come right away?” Fiona’s fingers teased lower, under the waistband of Beau’s pants. “Shall I play with you a little? Or shall I make you do it for me?”
Beau was so close to going off she could barely focus, but something wasn’t right. She didn’t want Fiona to make her come. Groaning, she looked down at the red-tipped nails scoring her flesh. They were all wrong. Everything was wrong. Wrong voice, wrong eyes, wrong hands.
“You know you want to come for me.”
“No. No, I don’t.”
Beau jerked upright, her gaze searching frantically in the semidark room. Her bedroom. Her bed. Alone. She fell back into the sweat-soaked sheets. “
Fuck.”
She slid her hand down her slick belly, cupped herself, squeezed. A few firm strokes of her thumb and she exploded. Panting, she stared at the ceiling. Two fucking mornings in a row. This was nuts. She hadn’t been this hair-triggered since she was sixteen years old. She needed to get back to work. She needed to burn off all this adrenaline and pent-up sex before she burned alive.
She dragged herself out of bed and shambled into the adjoining bathroom on shaking legs. Five in the morning. Time to see Bobby and then call the captain and tell him she was ready to get back on the line. She leaned against the shower wall, hot needles blasting her chest and stomach. A persistent heaviness in her loins signaled she wasn’t satisfied by the perfunctory morning orgasm, or the one the night before, or the one before that. The dream replayed in her head, but wide-awake she recognized it for what it was. She hadn’t thought about the sexy blonde since the cocktail party, and she knew damn well she hadn’t been dreaming about Fiona Webster. She knew whose hands she’d wanted on her, whose body she’d wanted beneath her palms. Ali Torveau had her well and properly twisted around, and she didn’t know what in the hell to do about it.
*
The nurses in the intermediate intensive care unit bent the rules for cops and firefighters, so when Beau showed up at seven in the morning no one objected. She peeked into Bobby’s room and saw that he was propped up on his pillows, awake.
“Hey,” he croaked when he saw her.
“Morning.” Beau grabbed a chair, pulled it over next to his bed, and dropped into it. Bobby seemed better than the night before, but his breathing was still labored. His color was a pretty good match for the gray-green walls. “You look perky.”
He squinted at her. “You don’t.”
“Thanks. I’m really glad to see you too.”
“Is it Sunday?” Bobby frowned.
“Monday morning.”
“Damn, I lost a couple of days somewhere. I know you were here last night and so were my parents.” He grimaced. “Can you get my folks to go home? I’m fine and I don’t want them staying up here in a hotel any longer.”