“I don’t think so. I told him your name and stuff, so I wanted to know if you’d go along with it.”
“Go along with what?”
“With pretending to be my boyfriend,” she said, exasperated.
“Why?”
Carly had pictured him jumping at the chance to play her knight in shining armor, not asking twenty questions. “Why should you help me, you mean?”
“No. Why do you think you need a pretend boyfriend?”
“Oh. Um, I guess I don’t want to get caught in a lie. Not that cutting yourself is any better than lying, but I just feel so lame for making that up. Besides, I want my dad to quit treating me like a little girl.”
“You think having a pretend boyfriend is the best way to assert your independence?”
“I guess not,” she said, because he had a point.
“You could get a real boyfriend.”
“Not one with your name.”
“Say we broke up.”
Embarrassed, she stared down at the sand. “I want him to think I’m mature, not a slut with a new boyfriend every day.”
“Like Lisette?”
Her head jerked up. “You know her?”
He smirked. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“All the boys do,” she admitted cattily. “We’re not friends anymore.”
“Why not?”
“We just aren’t.” She examined his expression with suspicion. “You’re not screwing her, are you?”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled again, going from handsome boy to teen-dream heartbreaker in a split second. “I’m not even your fake boyfriend yet, and you’re already jealous. I like it, rich girl.”
Carly punched him on the arm, using a little more force than was playful.
With amazingly quick reflexes, he grabbed her fist before she could retract it and squeezed hard enough to startle her. “Don’t do that again,” he warned.
She felt a shiver of awareness, for his hand was large enough to cover her fist, and felt strong. “Touchy, aren’t you?”
The glaze in his eyes cleared, and he slowly released her. “What duties am I to perform, as your boyfriend?” he asked, after a pause.
His voice was low, teasing, cutting through the tension that had cropped up between them. This was the behavior she’d expected of him, but she found herself too shy to flirt back. “You’d have to meet my dad.”
“Oh, God,” he groaned.
“And maybe, um, take me to the movies.”
He insulted her by mulling it over. Then he had the nerve to bargain with her. “On one condition.”
“What?”
Staring at her mouth, he said, “If you want people to think we’re dating, we should act natural with each other.”
“So?”
“So, you should kiss me.”
Her stomach fluttered. “Kiss you?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s your only condition?”
He appeared to consider adding a few more, but was smart enough not to push his luck.
“All right, then.” She leaned in to place a very sweet, very chaste kiss on his lips.
When she pulled back, his eyes were strange, as if her innocent touch had disturbed him deeply. “I meant a real kiss,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Oh.” Feeling self-conscious, she moistened her lips, leaned in some more, and waited.
Nothing happened.
When she opened her eyes, he had the gall to laugh.
“You’re not doing this right,” she complained.
“Neither are you.”
She bristled. “I’ve kissed boys before.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw you at Lisette’s thirteenth birthday party,” he said. “We played seven minutes in heaven. You went in the closet with Mark Mahalo.”
She smiled at the memory. “Who did you go in with?”
He shrugged, throwing away a shard of driftwood he’d sifted from the sand. “I was in ninth grade then, too old for a junior high school gig, but I went anyway, because I didn’t get invited to any other rich girl parties. That same year, my dad would send me to buy him a pack of cigarettes every night. If he let me keep the change, I’d make about twenty-five cents a trip, and it took me a whole year to save ten dollars.” His gaze reconnected with hers. “I would’ve given every penny to go into that closet with you.”
The blunt admission was almost beyond Carly’s comprehension. She’d spent a thousand dollars in one afternoon, easily. Ten dollars was nothing to her. A tip for her hairdresser. But from the look on his face, she knew he was sincere, and his intensity excited her. “Now’s your chance,” she breathed, putting her mouth up to his again.
He leaned back. “This isn’t Lisette Bruebaker’s closet.”
She didn’t understand his hesitation. “You don’t want to kiss me anymore?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to go at it like thirteen-year-olds.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Yes.”
She retreated, hugely offended. “Fuck off, then. You’re the one that wanted to do this.” She stood, preparing to walk away in a huff.
Laughing again, he pulled her back down to sit by him. “And you’re the one who needs a fake boyfriend. Do you want me to help you out or not?”
“Not.”
“Fine,” he said, calling her bluff. “Have a nice life.”
Her mouth made a thin, determined line. “What do you want me to do?”
James couldn’t believe she was naïve enough to let him dictate the particulars of their kiss. His heart started pounding with excitement, but he tried to play it cool. “First of all, you have to get closer,” he suggested, glad he’d taken the time to clean up a little before coming out to look for her. “You’re going to hurt yourself, craning your neck like that.”
Determined to prove herself, she crawled into his lap, put her arms around his neck, and pressed her breasts against his chest. “How’s this?”
“Better,” he said, gritting his teeth. “But you don’t want a guy to think you’re easy.” He put his hands on her hips and scooted her back a few inches, out of the danger zone, so she couldn’t feel just how affected he was by her proximity.
At his neck, she clenched her hands into fists.
“Simmer down, rich girl. I’m just telling it like it is.”
“Now what?” she growled.
“Now relax. You’re all tense.”
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. The movement caused her breasts to brush up against his chest again, and he almost groaned aloud. To cover, he cleared his throat and continued the lesson. “You have to work up to it. Maybe you could, uh, kiss my neck.”
Concentrating on the task, as if he were a Chemistry test that she wanted to ace, she bent her head to him and licked his skin, just above the collar of his T-shirt. “You taste salty,” she murmured. Her warm breath caressed his neck, cooling the wet mark her mouth had made.
He couldn’t hold back a low moan.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing. You’re doing well.” Too well. “I think we can move on.”
She closed her eyes and put her lips on his. Again, he didn’t take over for her. “Open your mouth,” she said, blinking up at him.
“Make me. Use a little finesse.”
She frowned in confusion, and he had to smother a laugh. He was pleased by her lack of experience, and not above taking advantage of it thoroughly. “Like this.” Very slowly, he traced the fullness of her lower lip with his tongue. When she sighed in delighted understanding, he pulled back. “See?”
“Uh-huh.” She stared intently at his mouth. “Let me try.”
She mimicked his actions so skillfully it required a monumental effort to keep his hands where they were at her waist. In seconds, she’d eclipsed his meager talent. Needing no further instruction, she slipped her tongue into his mouth and thread
ed her fingers through his hair.
He leaned back and let her have her way with him, forgetting that he’d orchestrated this scene and abandoning his earlier resolve to keep her away from the danger zone. When she deepened the kiss, wriggling in his lap, he couldn’t stop himself from cupping her cute little ass and drawing her closer, letting her feel what she was doing to him.
She gasped against his mouth then melted against him, acquiescing. In the blink of an eye, he was stretched out on top of her, kissing her like a madman and giving his hands free reign over her lithe body.
He must have been too rough, because when he slid his hand beneath her sweatshirt, she cried out.
James froze. “Sorry,” he said, rolling off her. He’d never meant to take it this far. “Carly-God, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
She sat up, running a hand through her disheveled hair. “Of course I’m okay. Sorry for what?”
His mouth dropped open. “For losing control, I guess. Hurting you.”
“You didn’t hurt me.”
“I didn’t? You made a noise.”
She blushed. “It wasn’t that kind of noise.”
“Oh.” He groaned in understanding, and pain. “I don’t think this boyfriend-girlfriend thing is going to work out.”
“Why not?” She stood, shaking sand from her clothes.
Because I can’t trust myself around you, he wanted to shout. Instead, he walked down the beach a few steps and shoved his shaking hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
“Come over tomorrow, for dinner. Around six.”
Pretending to be Carly’s boyfriend in front of her dad didn’t hold the same appeal as making out with her on the sand. And if his dad found out…
“You can’t back out,” she warned. “You’ve already collected your fee. And if everything goes well, maybe I’ll let you kiss me again.”
With that, she flashed him a grin and took off, sprinting down the beach, her hair wild and loose down her back. James watched until she disappeared in the twilight, knowing he would keep his end of the bargain.
Because although he’d pretended it hadn’t been enough, her first kiss had been perfection, charming in its innocence, devoid of all artifice, and the least ugly moment of his entire, bottom-dwelling life.
CHAPTER 7
“Can you come over?” he said without preamble. They’d never spoken on the phone before, but it didn’t occur to Sonny to ask who it was, even to be coy.
“What’s up?” she asked, caution warring with pleasure.
“Carly invited her boyfriend to dinner.” He would have said the devil was coming in the same tone.
“I thought she didn’t have one.”
“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I knew it couldn’t last.”
Her lips twitched. “And you need me as, what? A buffer?”
“I suppose. Carly recommended that I invite some other people, probably to take the heat off her guest. She thinks I’m going to grill him.”
“Are you?”
“I don’t know. I feel sick.”
Sonny had no trouble imagining the effect of young, overactive male hormones on Carly’s already troubled psyche. “Does she know you’re inviting me?”
“It was her idea.”
“Ah.” Now she was a distraction, evidently more useful than as a rival for Ben’s affections. “Who else is coming?”
“My mom, my brother, maybe one of his boyfriends.”
“Boyfriends?”
“Yeah. He goes through them like I used to go through surf groupies. I hope Carly doesn’t take after either of us.”
She felt a flutter of panic at the thought of meeting his family, especially under an assumed identity. What a coil!
Although her gut feeling told her Ben Fortune was innocent, she still had a job to do, evidence to collect, and information to gather. If Olivia Fortune had been the SoCal Strangler’s first victim, Sonny had to find out why the killer had chosen her.
Perhaps he’d known her. And Ben.
Surrendering to duty, curiosity, and an overwhelming desire to see him again, she let out a deep breath and asked, “What time?”
Just before six, Sonny walked across Neptune Street, toward Ben’s front door. A teenaged boy was pacing the curb a few doors down, head tilted to one side, his body language suggesting he was practicing introduction scenarios. Hiding a smile, she approached him, deciding to offer her assistance.
“Hey,” she said, startling him with her presence.
When he turned around, her first impression, based solely on appearance, was that Carly Fortune had good taste. Her second, based on what was going on behind those pretty blue eyes, was that Carly was playing with fire.
Physically, he wasn’t threatening. Neither large nor impressively muscled, he had a lean, hungry look that made his cheekbones stand out in his face. Despite those sharp edges, he was handsome, and if one didn’t stray beyond the surface, he appeared nothing more than a better-than-average-looking boy. His dark blue sweater was of good quality, mended haphazardly in a couple of places with black thread, indicating that he’d done it himself. His jeans were faded from too many washings, and his shoes, a scuffed brown leather that must have been quite expensive when new, were worn but clean.
It was amazing what kind of deals you could get in Torrey Pines, shopping secondhand.
The particulars of his clothing were telling, but the flash she’d seen in his eyes upon her surprise approach concerned her more than his socioeconomic status. His defensive, fight-or-flight reaction reminded her more than a little of herself.
In the next instant, he erased the hostile expression and relaxed his stance, regarding her with mild curiosity.
“You must be Carly’s boyfriend. I’m Summer.” She stuck out her hand in greeting, telling herself the kid was sketchy, not necessarily evil.
“James.” His handshake was firm and calloused. Interesting.
“You want some tips?”
“Tips?”
He looked so hopeful that Sonny breathed a sigh of relief. There was nothing sinister about a skinny boy with a puppy-dog crush. “Carly’s dad is a nice guy,” she said. “Be polite, and you’ll go far. And he’s kind of…” she paused, searching for one word to convey laid-back, health-conscious, environmentally aware, and liberal, “…a hippie, so don’t try to pull any tough-guy bullshit. It won’t impress him.”
He nodded, filing the information away. “No sports talk, then?”
The kid was quick. “I’m not sure if he likes anything but surfing.” Although he was too young to be a suspect, she gave him another quick once-over. “You surf?”
“Nah,” he said glumly. His eyes lit up. “I fish, though.”
Sonny smiled. “Then you know about the ocean. Currents, wind, waves.”
“I know some stuff.”
“Okay, but don’t go spouting off. The more you talk, the more likely you are to do or say something stupid.”
Taking no offense, he smiled back at her. “Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of Ben’s.” Sonny knew exactly how her words translated in the mind of a boy his age, so she cut him off, midthought. “Ready?”
“Yes,” he said, eyeing the Fortune residence with trepidation.
“Oh, and I think Carly’s uncle is gay, so don’t freak out.”
“Why would I freak out?”
Why, indeed? “You’re okay, kid.”
Before they could knock, Carly yanked open the door, her black eyes sparkling with mischief. She looked James over, not bothering to simper or flirt, and gave Sonny a similar perusal. “You two need major help,” she decided.
Taking James by the hand, she dragged him upstairs, motioning for Sonny to follow. In her bedroom, she turned her critical eye on James first. She must have seen the warning in his expression, because she said, “You look good. But can I put some gel in your hair?”
He shrugged, scanning her bedroom, more interested in her private domain than th
e state of his hair. He appeared to be surveying the windows for break-in potential, when he caught Sonny watching him. Embarrassed, he turned his attention back to Carly.
Predictably, his gaze dropped to her breasts, which jiggled as she worked gel into his hair. His shoulders stiffened, and his cheekbones acquired a dull red stain.
Sonny hid a smile. Oh, to be a teenaged boy, in a constant state of sexual frustration.
When she was finished driving James crazy, Carly stepped back and nodded her approval. Then she faced Sonny. “You, on the other hand, need a lot more attention.” She made a gesture that indicated imperfection, from head to toe.
Pleased that someone besides himself was under scrutiny, the corner of James’ mouth quirked up. Out of loyalty to Sonny, for the tips, he said, “I think she looks okay.”
Carly sizzled him with a glance. “Go make nice with my dad. He’s in the kitchen.”
He paled. “Without you?”
“Yes. Offer to set the table.”
Muttering something about being crazy for agreeing to come, he wandered out to meet his nemesis.
Carly started fussing with Sonny’s hair, rubbing gel into it with her hands. She paused, testing its texture between her fingertips. “Your hair is so thick,” she mused. “It feels just like James’.” She tilted her chin up smugly. “So, what do you think of him?”
Sonny thought Carly had met her match. James was probably as unstable emotionally as she was. Ben had better be prepared for his daughter to grow up fast. “Are you ready for a steady relationship?”
“It’s not serious,” she said offhand.
“Just playing with his heart?”
Carly frowned. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. That sounds complicated.”
“Love usually is.”
She gave a trilling little laugh. “We’re not in love.”
“And three days ago, you didn’t want a boyfriend.”
Carly dismissed the idea that things were moving too fast, youthfully secure in her own judgment, despite the fact that it had already been proven faulty a number of times. She stepped back to study her handiwork. “Oh, wow. Your hair looks hot.”
Sonny glanced in the mirror. Carly was right, and she had a clever hand with styling. Instead of thick, unruly locks, her short hair fell back from her face in soft, sexy waves. “How’d you do that?”
Crash Into Me Page 8