He glanced across the cab at Stephen, who only smirked and pulled his hat down over his eyes, slouching in his seat like Arlen had.
Thankfully, it was a short trip from Carly’s house to the harbor. James parked in the free lot, like always, although it was a half mile from there to the dock. They walked the distance in silence, the sound of their footsteps absorbed by the wooden planks on the causeway.
After they boarded Destiny James took her all the way around San Diego Bay. It was a glorious, sunny afternoon, and there were plenty of other day-trippers milling about, but he noticed very little about the weather or the sea, other than those details necessary to navigate. He was torn between fuzzy-edged memories of his mother-patched together and soft from use, like a faded quilt-and the vibrant temptation of Carly Fortune in the flesh.
They went to Crystal Cove, his mother’s favorite place, to spread the ashes. For a split second, he was struck by a memory of the nightmare he’d had a week ago, and he imagined that he saw a dark, ominous shape swimming underwater. When he blinked, it was gone, and there was just Carly, holding his hand.
“You do it,” he said, transferring the urn to Stephen. “You’ve got more experience with ashes.”
Stephen smiled around his cigarette, although the joke wasn’t worth it.
Before he took off the lid, Carly placed a kiss on the top of the urn, and a few of her tears splashed there, too. James and Stephen followed her lead, kissing the urn as if it were their mother’s golden cheek. When it was time, Stephen overturned its contents, and they watched the ocean absorb what was left of Gabrielle Matthews.
Stephen put his arm around James’ shoulders, and Carly pressed her face into the front of his shirt. James just held her, stroking his hand down her back, watching the sun dip toward the horizon and feeling the comforting lean of his brother beside him.
“Why don’t you let me out at the wharf?” Stephen suggested. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
Stephen’s intention was probably to give James some time alone with Carly, but he may also have been thinking about getting high. It hadn’t escaped James’ attention that Stephen had been clean lately, and struggling to stay that way. If he was looking to score a bag of dope, it would be an easy enough task at America’s Cup Harbor.
Hoping to find his brother sober, and safe, when they returned, James dropped him off at the closest dock and said good-bye.
“Let’s not go back just yet,” Carly murmured, her lips against his neck. They had about an hour before sunset, and James knew of many private hideaways where they could be alone.
He also knew what would happen if they were.
Telling himself he could always keep going, that they didn’t have to stop, he took them on another loop around the bay. Of course, they found the perfect spot, hidden in a rocky, sun-drenched cove, so he lowered anchor and brought an old, scratchy blanket out from belowdecks. They sat together for a while, watching the sun dip low on the horizon and letting the gentle pitch and sway of the waves lull them into a drowsy sensual reverie.
James wasn’t sure if he reached for her first, or if she started touching him. It just seemed as though one moment they were holding hands, side by side, the next they were holding each other. When he kissed her, he felt her lips tremble. His hand slipped under her T-shirt and she moaned, arching her back, giving herself to him.
Most of the times they’d been together, Carly had been the sexual aggressor. This time, he couldn’t allow her to bear the brunt of the responsibility for their actions. He’d known exactly what he was doing when he’d dropped anchor, gone into the cab to get the blanket, and checked his wallet for the condom he’d been keeping there.
If he was going to lay her down on an old wool blanket atop the tar-soaked planks of Destiny, a surface that had seen a hundred thousand gallons of fish blood, seawater, sweat, and tears, he wasn’t going to pretend it was all her idea.
“Your tits have been driving me crazy all day,” he said against her mouth, cupping their delicate weight in his hands.
“Why?” she asked.
“I thought you weren’t wearing a bra. I could see the shape of your nipples.”
She gasped, because he was tracing their shape now, brushing his thumbs over the distended tips that were poking against the lacy fabric of her bra.
Emboldened by his words, she ran her hand up his thigh. In the past, he hadn’t let her touch him because he’d known his control would disintegrate. Today, he must have left his control, and his conscience, on the mainland, because he guided her hand directly to the danger zone and initiated a stage four emergency.
Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she squeezed his hardened flesh experimentally, watching him through half-lidded eyes.
The pleasure was so intense it almost blinded him.
“James,” she said, “I want-”
He stilled her hand. “I know.”
Pulling her T-shirt over her head, he tossed it aside. She returned the favor, tearing his shirt in the process, ripping buttons from holes as she pushed it off his shoulders.
The top of his head nearly came off with it.
Panting, she pressed her lips to his, running her hands all over him, exploring the muscles in his arms and back. He knew he didn’t have the kind of body girls swooned over, but the way she was touching him made him feel like he did.
“Now,” she whispered, rolling away from him to kick off her jeans.
With a low groan, he unzipped his own, and she reached for him, putting her hand down the front of his pants.
Her mouth formed a soft O of wonder as she curled her fingers around him.
He was lost in a visual, sexual trance, mesmerized by her hand, moving up and down on him; her body, exquisitely revealed by a few triangles of cream-colored lace; her skin, dusky gold in the waning light; and her lips, soft and moist and pursed in concentration.
Making a strangled sound, he thrust his tongue into her mouth again and slid his hand over her taut belly, into her panties. “Oh, God,” he gasped, feeling her heat.
“What’s wrong?”
“Uh-” He was beyond ordinary communication skills. “Carly-”
“Let me,” she said, and in that moment, he would have allowed her anything. Smiling, she unclasped her bra and let it fall. Stripped her tiny panties down her slim hips.
“Oh my God,” he repeated. Her naked body was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“You’d better have a condom,” she warned.
“Wait,” he heard himself say, but when she lay back on the wool blanket, he positioned himself over her, digging the condom out of his pocket. “You’re not ready.”
“Yes I am,” she countered, wrapping her long, sleek legs around him.
He made quick work of the condom, wishing it were fashioned out of something strong enough to slow him down. Like titanium-lined neoprene.
James knew, even if Carly didn’t, that they were moving too fast. He’d meant to touch her first, to take his time, to be sweet and tender and gentle, but she was writhing with impatience, and he was out of his mind with desire. Unable to hold himself back, he thrust inside her, taking her virginity with very little fanfare and absolutely no finesse.
Carly cried out, her body tensing under his.
James lifted his head to look at her face. It was pinched with pain. “Did I hurt you?” he managed, his voice raw.
She nodded, tears flooding her eyes.
His gut clenched with regret, and he tried to withdraw. It was a valiant effort, and he moved back slightly, but the friction was too much for him. His hips jerked forward again involuntarily.
She clutched her hands at his shoulders. “James, stop,” she sobbed, hitting him with her fists. “It hurts. Take it out.”
He pulled away from her and rolled onto his back, chest heaving. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, cursing himself for being so clumsy. “I’m going to die now,” he added, wallowing in the agony of sexual frustr
ation.
Carly smiled. “Maybe we should try again.”
“I can’t.”
“You look like you can.”
“I mean I can’t stop again. So we better not.”
She pouted gorgeously, because that’s what she did when things weren’t going her way. “But, James, I’m all…”
“What?”
“Itchy and aching.”
He opened his eyes, let them slide over her lithe body. “I can probably help you out with that.”
She gave his penis a questionable look, and he laughed. It hurt to laugh, so he stopped. “With my mouth,” he clarified.
“Oh,” she said, a soft blush of color on her cheeks. “No,” she decided, biting down on her lower lip.
“Why not?” He stared at the apex of her thighs eagerly.
Suddenly shy, she covered herself with her hand. “Because.”
He was beguiled by her modesty. “Why?”
“I think I bled a little bit.”
He sat up and took her hand away. “Let me see.” He stroked her with the tips of his fingers, barely touching her, then pulled his hand back to look at it. Her moisture was there, and a tinge of pink. “Yeah,” he said in wonder, smiling slightly. “You did.” Without thinking, he licked the tips of his fingers, and heard her sharp intake of breath.
Puzzled, he drew his eyes up to her face. She was flushed and lushly dark-eyed, her dusky nipples jutting forth, her respiration coming in short, soft pants. Not sure what had caused her reaction, he touched his slick fingers to her and brought them up to his mouth again.
“Why are you doing that?” she asked, spreading her legs a little more.
“I want to taste you.”
She moaned, throwing her head back and resting her hands behind her, palms facedown on the deck. He skimmed his fingertips over her, very lightly, and she moved her hips against his hand, yearning. At the same time, he bent his head to her and wet her nipple with his tongue. She whimpered, so he did the same with the other nipple, watching the sun and breeze dry them, then doing it all over again.
When he thought she was almost to the point of climax, judging by the breathy sounds she was making, he moved his mouth down her body. He quickly discovered it wasn’t as difficult to please her as he’d imagined. He just put his tongue where he thought he should and laved that spot, like he’d done with her nipple.
She clutched at his hair, holding him there, so it must have been the right place, and then he was sure, because she stiffened and shook and screamed his name.
After she was finished, she lay back on the blanket, eyes closed, murmuring something unintelligible. She was dewy with perspiration, languid with release, holding a hand over her quivering belly.
James lifted his head, very proud of himself.
“Do it again,” she said, raising herself up on her elbows.
“Again? I don’t think you can. Give yourself a chance to rest.”
She laughed. “No, I mean, come inside me again. For you.”
He was still aching with need, but he felt strangely satisfied, to have fulfilled her so thoroughly. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” She pulled him back on top of her. “Tell me what to do.”
He was reluctant to hurt her again, to ruin everything pleasurable she’d just experienced, but he couldn’t make himself say no. “Put your knees up.”
“Like this?”
“Yeah. Oh, God, yeah. Tell me if it hurts,” he grated, going slower this time, sliding in inch by inch.
“Ooh,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not as much as before.”
He made himself say it. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” she said, taking a calming breath. “Keep going.”
He held himself very still. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, smiling hesitantly. Placing a soft kiss on his lips, she tilted her hips up, encouraging him.
He groaned, surging forward, trying not to go too fast or too hard or too deep. Despite his preoccupation, it took only a few shallow strokes before he was gasping, shuddering, collapsing, and burying his head in the wild tangle of black hair at the curve of her neck.
After it was over, he lay sprawled on top of her, sweating like crazy and panting like a dog, too wrecked to move.
“If I’d known it was going to be over that fast I might have let you finish the first time,” she teased, running her fingers through his damp hair.
“Sorry,” he said, smiling back at her shyly.
“Don’t be,” she whispered. “I love you.”
Tears came to his eyes, so he buried his face in her hair again. “I love you, too, Carly,” he replied, shifting his weight to one side and wrapping his arms around her, never wanting to let her go. “God, I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 23
Sonny should have asked one of DeGrassi’s staff members, or even Special Agent Mitchell, to accompany her on the return trip to the Bruebaker residence.
Instead, she went alone. She’d always preferred flying solo. She was good at watching her own back, being responsible for only herself, and taking calculated risks without having to worry about endangering someone else.
She didn’t need any more liabilities.
A uniformed servant led the way to Tom Bruebaker’s home office. He did a double-take when he saw her standing in the doorway.
The maid frowned. “Is everything all right, señor?”
“Of course,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
After offering them both coffee, and showing Sonny to her seat, the maid quietly departed.
Tom Bruebaker wasn’t a fool. He set aside his discomfort at having an undercover agent posing as a guest at his daughter’s funeral and processed the ramifications of her presence. “Does Ben know who you are?” he asked, reading her card.
She gave him a tight smile. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of the case.”
“What’s to stop me from picking up the phone and calling him?”
“Nothing.” She folded her hands across her lap, confident he wouldn’t.
His eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
“I want to know about your relationship with Olivia Fortune.”
He looked away, stalling for time, his fingertips drumming a nervous rhythm across the surface of his desk.
“Did you sleep with her?” she persisted.
He met her gaze. “No.”
Sonny arched a brow. He appeared to be telling the truth. “Why does Ben think you did?”
“I have no idea,” he replied flatly. An obvious lie.
“Mr. Bruebaker,” she chided, “I’m investigating the death of your daughter-”
“Really? It looked to me like you were investigating Ben Fortune’s tonsils.”
“Tell me what you know about his wife,” she offered, ignoring the insolence, “and I’ll tell you what I know about yours.”
It was a good bluff, and he bought it. She’d known he would be weak where Sheila was concerned, and felt a twinge of shame, to have obtained that information so amorally. “Olivia and I were friends,” he began. “Nothing more. She visited me one morning while Ben was out of town. In tears. Inconsolable.” He paused for a moment, as if disturbed by the memory of her distress. “She’d been angry with him, and gone with another man to get even. She regretted acting so impetuously, and wanted my advice.”
“Why yours?”
His mouth twisted with bitterness. “Sheila has…betrayed me a number of times, and I’ve always taken her back. Olivia wanted to know how to make it right. What to tell him.”
“What did you recommend?”
“I told her to confess to the affair,” he admitted. “Ben was a terrible husband and he needed a wakeup call.”
“Why did she say it was you she’d been with?”
He shrugged, not because he didn’t know, but because he was uncomfortable with the answer. �
�I’m…older. Not a match for him physically.”
“And the other man was?”
“I suppose so. Olivia was certain there would be bloodshed if she told Ben the truth.”
Sonny felt her stomach clench with apprehension. Ben wasn’t a fighter by nature, but neither was he a good candidate for the cuckold. She pictured his fierce expression this afternoon as he said he wanted to kill the man who’d hurt Olivia.
She didn’t doubt he would try, if given half a chance.
“You don’t know his name?” she asked.
“No. It was someone close to him, that’s all I know. She said Ben could never find out because it would destroy both relationships. Their marriage, and-”
“It couldn’t have been Nathan,” she thought aloud.
“Nathan?” Tom let out a humorless chuckle. “No. I believe it was a friend of Ben’s. A surfing buddy, if you will.”
Sonny’s blood ran cold. Sheila had used those exact same words this afternoon, after Tom had accused her of picking up a stranger on the beach. She’d said she could sleep with anyone she pleased, including Ben’s surfing buddies.
And who else could she have meant but his freewheeling, soul-surfing, lady-loving friend, JT Carver?
There was a noisy little dive within walking distance of America’s Cup Harbor, a popular local joint by the name of Fishbone.
Although he rarely ventured into the bar scene on his own, Stephen went there to waste a few hours of his time. The place was rustic, the mugs were frosty, and the microbrew was expensive. Fishermen were always welcome, even penny-ante dope dealers like him.
Stephen generally stayed away because of the women.
Not that he didn’t like them. He did, from a safe distance. In San Diego, a guy couldn’t turn around in a crowded place without bumping into some damned pretty ones. There were a couple of good-looking girls sitting next to him at the bar right now.
They scared the hell out of him.
He wasn’t sure why, but women tended to approach him when he went out. Maybe because he kept to himself and didn’t try to hit on them or act clever. He knew better than to think he could impress anyone.
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