Crash Into Me

by Jill Sorenson

  It wasn’t a shining moment of his life, but it was a breakthrough.

  He’d known he wasn’t queer, but he hadn’t been sure he could have sex like a normal person after all he’d seen and done. James discovered that not only could he do it, he could enjoy it, with an empty heart and a blissfully blank mind.

  His performances hadn’t been memorable, but neither had the girls, and at least he didn’t need money or violence to get off. Still, it had deepened rather than filled the void inside him, so he’d stopped going over to Stephen’s house looking to break up the monotony of his miserable existence by getting laid.

  When Lisette Bruebaker showed up a few weeks ago, James hadn’t approached her with anything particular in mind. They’d laughed about playing seven minutes in heaven at her thirteenth birthday party. She was so pretty, so full of life, so much different than the intoxicated, hollow-eyed girls he usually saw at Stephen’s.

  And she reminded him of Carly.

  So when Lisette took him into Stephen’s closet, he followed her, and when she dropped to her knees to give him her own little version of heaven, he didn’t tell her not to. He just threaded his fingers through her hair and pretended she was Carly.

  He hadn’t lasted anywhere near seven minutes.

  James groaned aloud at the memory, feeling sick to his stomach. If Carly ever found out about that, she’d never talk to him again. He knew very little about sex, and even less about girls, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Carly wouldn’t like to hear that he’d been in a closet with her friend.

  Her dead friend.

  As he walked by Carly’s house, he looked around, checking it out, making sure everything was safe. If someone could brutalize Lisette and dump her in the water, what was to stop them from doing it to Carly?

  His gut clenched at the thought.

  Stashing his bag between rocks at Windansea, he walked down to the 24-hour mini-mart to make the call. He knew better than to dial 911. Instead he looked up a phone number for a homicide detective.

  “Staff Sergeant Paula DeGrassi, Homicide Division,” one of the listings read. It sounded pretty official, and for a moment, he wavered. This could get him in some really deep shit.

  Then he thought of Carly, her pretty face. Her slim body tangled in a net.

  So he dialed, palms sweaty, heart pounding, blood pumping to his ear where it was pressed against the receiver. Thank God for voice mail. James left a short message, giving Lisette’s name and a pair of memorized GPS coordinates.

  When he returned to Windansea, he stayed awake for a long time, staring at black waves crashing against a bone-white beach.

  He was dead-tired, too freaked out to sleep.

  CHAPTER 9

  The following day, Ben rang Sonny’s drunken song-bird doorbell several hours before the pool party was scheduled to begin. When she opened the door, he smiled, and her heart did a funny little flip-flop in her chest.

  “I know you work out,” he said, like that was a greeting.

  “How?”

  “You’re in great shape.”

  Smiling back at him, she leaned against her door-jamb. “Is that a challenge?”

  “I’m not allowed to surf on Christmas. Family rules. Carly wants to run on the beach, and I’m dying to get some exercise.”

  So was she. “You go stir-crazy after only one day without surfing?”

  “Yeah. I get the shakes.”

  Sonny tried to wipe the silly grin off her face, but it was Christmas, and she had nothing pressing on her schedule. Grant wouldn’t even expect her to check in. Her boss would be spending time with his real family, unavailable for the entire day. “I’ll meet you in a few minutes,” she decided. “Prepare to get whipped.”

  Before the run, Sonny gave Carly her first self-defense lesson as a warm-up. The girl was lithe and limber, and would have been a good student if she’d taken the subject seriously. But she was a typical teenager, naïve and optimistic, confident in the assumption that she would always be safe.

  Ben, on the other hand, was a very quick study. He was able to flip her over, off her feet, after less than five minutes of training. It unsettled her, but she reminded herself that he was a world-class athlete, a powerful man in top condition.

  She cut the lesson short before he got too cocky.

  Carly was a better runner than a grappler, having natural grace, legs like a gazelle, and energy to burn. She lacked drive and endurance, however, so she tired more quickly than Sonny or Ben. After a couple of miles, she let them go on ahead, taking a break to sit on the sand.

  Sonny gave it her all, but Ben beat her easily. In a contest of self-defense, he was no match for her. In one of raw athleticism, she was the loser.

  Gasping for breath, she collapsed on the sand, totally spent, conceding her defeat. She hadn’t pushed herself so hard in a while, and it felt good, although winning would have felt better. Gloating, he sat down beside her, pulling his T-shirt over his head and using it to wipe his face.

  “Oh my God,” she said, when she saw his chest.

  He looked down, running the T-shirt over himself absently, mopping his sweaty abs. “What?”

  “Your body,” was all she could manage.

  “What about it?”

  In a wetsuit, he was spectacular. In jeans and a T-shirt, a suit, or a sweater, he was gorgeous. But bare-chested, he was…wow.

  “It’s hideous,” she said, smiling.

  He smiled back at her. The sexy, off-center smile, the well-toned body…it was like a double whammy. “I’ve been told that before.”

  “I’m sure you have. Put your shirt back on. You’re scaring little children.”

  He laughed.

  She rested on her side, facing him, one hand against her cheek, bent elbow supporting the weight of her head. The other arm, draped across her stomach, made slow, lazy circles in the sand. “How often do you jog?” she asked.

  “I don’t.”

  She sat up in disbelief, no longer relaxed. “How could you beat me, then?”

  “Surfing, swimming, paddling out. It keeps you in shape.”

  Her eyes wandered over his chest. “I can see that. You must lift weights.”

  “Nah.”

  “Sit-ups?”

  He clenched his stomach muscles self-consciously. “Never.”

  “You are such a liar,” she accused, insanely jealous.

  “What do you do?” he asked, giving her body a similar examination.

  “Me? I do everything.”

  His eyes darkened.

  “I mean, I do cardio and strength training. I have to work so hard to maintain what little muscle tone I have.” She flexed her own bicep, feeling it, comparing it to his. He didn’t have that overworked, over-stylized look some men spend hours every day in the gym to achieve. He was just tight and hard and perfectly toned.

  Her hands itched to test every inch of him for firmness. “I can’t believe you get all that from surfing.”

  He shrugged, making those gorgeous muscles dance in the morning light. “I have to work to keep my muscle mass lower, actually. It’s better to be quick and light on the water.”

  “Is that why you’re so health-conscious? To keep from bulking up?”

  “Yes. Nobody thinks it’s strange when an Olympian has a strict diet regimen, but because I’m a surfer, I’m supposed to live on burgers and French fries. It’s a stereotype.”

  “You make a pretty good-looking poster boy for clean living,” she decided, letting her eyes fall over his flat stomach, down to the silky line of hair that dipped into the waistband of his shorts.

  “You’re embarrassing me.”

  Her gaze returned to his face. “Am I?” She grinned, enjoying his discomfort. “Sorry, I forgot. Being worshipped by women is tiresome. You’re so over it.”

  “I’m going to throw you in the ocean,” he growled.

  “Go ahead and try,” she said, delighted with the suggestion.

  And he did. Or
she let him. By the time they came out of the icy surf, laughing, dripping, soaked to the skin, and covered with sand, neither was sure who had gotten the better of whom.

  When Carly caught up with them, she was horrified by their childish behavior. “I am not walking down Windansea with a couple of wet dorks,” she said. True to her word, she kept her distance, trailing a hundred feet behind them the entire way back to the house.

  In contrast to the playful, easy ambience of the morning jog, Christmas with the Fortunes was a tense, quietly antagonistic celebration.

  Ben’s father was a physically imposing man, tall and distinguished-looking, decades older than his wife. A retired criminal court judge, he was also loud, supercilious, and critical.

  Ben’s brother, Nathan, brought a vintage bottle of burgundy, a friendly smile, and his boyfriend, Peter. Judge, as everyone called him, drank the wine, ignored his younger son, and flat-out refused to acknowledge Peter’s existence.

  Ben, on the other hand, was treated as though everything he touched turned to gold. It was strange, as he’d done nothing to earn his father’s approval, from what Sonny could ascertain. He’d chosen surfing over football, crushing his father’s greatest vicarious dream. He also dropped out of school to follow the endless summer, a move that had been even less popular with his folks. And when he finally went to college, he majored in Philosophy instead of Prelaw.

  Despite these disappointments, Judge gave Ben his deference, and his respect.

  Nathan was the one who’d followed in his father’s footsteps at Harvard Law. Having done a background check on him already, Sonny knew Nathan was a public defender, and he’d also played college ball. Lacking Ben’s size and natural athleticism, he’d gone far on guts, pride, and the steely determination of a second son desperate to prove he was good enough.

  He wasn’t, and he never would be.

  In the courtroom, Judge wouldn’t have discriminated against a person based on race, religion, or sexual orientation. It was a shame he couldn’t allow his son the same courtesy.

  The Fortunes had their differences, but one thing was clear: they all adored Carly. When she wanted to be, the girl was like a ray of light.

  Sonny figured they would use the holiday as an excuse to spoil her rotten. She was wrong. For a family of considerable wealth, the gift exchange was completed with very little fanfare, the items more thoughtful than lavish. Carly, for instance, gave Ben a philosophy book, and he presented her with a set of crescent wrenches that sent her into raptures.

  Sonny accepted a gift with surprise, reading the card aloud. “To Summer. Love, Ben,” was written in dramatic, feminine script. She put a hand over her heart, as if deeply touched. “I didn’t know you felt this way,” she teased, much to Carly’s delight. When she opened the package, the smile fell from her face. “It’s beautiful,” she said, lifting the necklace up to see the stone in the sunlight. It was the most elegant piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. “Thank you.”

  “Carly picked it,” he said brusquely.

  It was no less than she’d suspected, but hearing him say it out loud, in front of everyone, made her chest tighten and her throat close up.

  Throughout the remainder of the day, Sonny analyzed Nathan through an investigator’s eyes. He had a lot of jealousy issues with Ben, but he wasn’t into surfing, and it was a stretch to think he’d planted trace evidence in an attempt to frame his hotshot older brother.

  JT Carver was a surfer, but another unlikely suspect. He’d been out catching waves with Ben the morning Olivia was murdered, and was actually his alibi. JT had a few marks on his record, minor charges involving drugs and alcohol, but there was something about his Jeff Spicoli routine Sonny didn’t buy. Perhaps it was merely an indication that he knew he wasn’t living up to his full potential, because although she found him clever, at times his joviality seemed forced.

  Unfortunately, he’d flaked out on the party, so she couldn’t study his handsome countenance for signs of deception.

  By late afternoon, Grace and Judge left, and soon after, Nathan and Peter made their excuses. James showed up just in time to frolic with Carly in the heated pool. The two of them substituted a lot of playful wrestling for sex, just as Sonny and Ben had done on the beach that morning. When the pair got a little too frisky, they were relegated indoors to watch DVDs.

  Sonny wasn’t sure which situation was more dangerous: Carly and James hanging all over each other, half-naked, underwater, or sitting together, clothed but unsupervised, on the living room couch.

  Ben kept glancing toward the sliding glass door uneasily.

  “Let’s go in the Jacuzzi,” Sonny said, stretching her arms over her head. After this morning’s workout, her muscles would love it.

  His eyes wandered over her, then drifted back to the house, but he nodded.

  It was easy to understand his reluctance. With Carly and James nearby, he couldn’t seduce her, and that put a damper on his plans for the evening.

  Ben was already wearing blue-and-white boardshorts, so he removed his T-shirt and tossed it on the patio table. Sitting down on the coping at the edge of the Jacuzzi, he waited for her to undress with undisguised interest.

  Following his lead, she took off her jeans and tank top right there, stripping down to her black string-bikini. She was glad James was indoors, because it was very brief, and she drew the line at revving up teenaged boys.

  Ben gaped at her, devouring her body with his eyes.

  Frowning, she checked her swimsuit, making sure everything important was covered. “What do you think?” she asked, because he was still ogling her.

  “I think I need a cold shower.”

  She laughed. “I was afraid I had a peekaboo nipple.”

  He lowered himself into the water with a groan.

  Sonny took a seat beside him, enjoying his discomfort immensely. Leaning back and closing her eyes, she let the hot water massage away her tension.

  “So,” he began after a while, “how are we going to get over your, uh, phobia?”

  “I suppose you have a few ideas,” she commented dryly.

  “You could tie my hands behind my back with your bikini top.”

  She smiled at the suggestion, which would leave her upper half conveniently bare. “No.”

  “Okay, then. Your bikini bottoms.”

  Laughing, she shook her head.

  He was silent for a moment. “I would never hurt you.”

  She looked over at him. “I know.”

  “Then let me prove it to you.”

  Getting into the Jacuzzi with him had been a mistake, she realized. Lengthening shadows stretched across the patio, cloaking the pool in darkness. No one could see them. “What about Carly?” she asked anyway, her eyes darting toward the house.

  “I’m not suggesting anything…X-rated.”

  Sonny worried at her lower lip, considering. It was so easy to pretend she really was Summer Moore, that Grant didn’t exist, that the situation was natural, unplanned, spontaneous.

  It was so tempting to give in to what Ben wanted. What she wanted.

  “Okay,” she said. “But you have to promise you won’t touch me.”

  He nodded slowly and she knew he would keep his word. In effect, it was the same offer he’d made earlier, sans bikini top, but she didn’t want to have to tie him up to trust him.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  A thrill raced through her at his words. She did like a man who was eager to please. “Um…sit up there again.” She pointed at the coping around the edge of the pool. “And keep your arms at your sides.”

  Resting his palms on the coping, he raised himself up, drawing her eye to his rock-hard triceps and strong forearms. Warm water ran in rivulets down his torso, into the low waistband of his shorts. The fabric clung to his thighs, covering him almost to the knee. Studying the way his body hair was plastered to his calves, she fantasized about rubbing her smooth legs against his rough ones, delighting in the differences b
etween them.

  Taking a deep breath, she brought her eyes back to his face.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  She moved closer, placing her hand on his knee and situating herself between his spread thighs. The position was provocative, considering that it brought her breasts level with his lap, but it was kind of awkward for kissing.

  It was getting too hot in the Jacuzzi anyway, she decided, boosting herself up out of the water. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she perched her bottom on one well-muscled thigh, carefully avoiding the erection that was already tenting the front of his shorts.

  His white-knuckled hands gripped the edge of the coping, but he didn’t move. Holding himself stock-still, he waited, his mouth as tense as his body.

  At dusk, the temperature was no longer balmy, but she didn’t feel the chill. Her heart was racing, drumming a wild beat at the base of her throat. Her nipples peaked with arousal, pushing against the wet fabric of her bathing suit.

  Lifting a trembling hand to his face, she traced his lips with her fingertip, as if to make sure they were real. They felt real, and warm, if not exactly pliant. Leaning in, she kissed the crescent-shaped scar above his mouth.

  He inhaled a sharp breath.

  Taking the plunge, she threaded her fingers through his hair and flattened her breasts against his chest, kissing him like she meant it. His mouth was hot and open, eager for her tongue, and she gave it to him, tasting him deeply.

  It was incredibly, unbearably exciting. Pleasure spread through her, pulsing between her thighs. After a few more kisses, she was rubbing herself along the length of his erection, feeling him harden even more, hearing him groan.

  Then he broke his promise not to touch her. Putting his hands on her hips, he pushed her back gently, ending the contact and the kiss.

  Panting, she blinked up at him in confusion.

  “This is going further than I thought.”

  Remembering Carly, she experienced a sharp stab of disappointment. It wasn’t every day Sonny got this comfortable with a man. Never, in fact. Even with Grant she was careful to maintain a safe distance, and their relationship was platonic.