Night Watch

by Suzanne Brockmann

  But the heat in his eyes nearly incinerated her. He didn’t say a word. He just looked at her.

  And then he kissed her again.

  This time, it was instant combustion. A total meltdown. He was kissing her as if he, too, had been thinking about nothing else but making love to her for the past few days. He was kissing her as if he thought he might be able to touch her very soul if he could get as much of his tongue as possible into her mouth.

  Which was really great, because she wanted his tongue there. She wanted his hands on her body, too, sweeping down across her back, across the curve of her derriere, pulling her closer, even closer to him as if he were trying to absorb her completely into him.

  “Whoopsie! Sorry!”

  Amber.

  Wes let go of Brittany so fast, she almost fell over.

  “Sorry,” he said, too, but it wasn’t clear if he was talking to Amber or Britt. But then he definitely turned to Amber. “I just, uh, don’t get leave very often and…”

  “And Brittany’s son is out of town,” Amber finished for him. “You don’t need to drive me to a hotel. I can drive myself. Just…if you don’t mind, will you walk me down to the garage?”

  “Sure,” Wes said. He looked at Brittany again. “Sorry. I’m…sorry.”

  Was he apologizing for nearly knocking her over, or that incredible kiss?

  “I’m the one who’s sorry I interrupted your evening,” Amber apologized, too, and it was possible that she actually meant it.

  “It’s okay,” Britt said. She looked at Wes. “It’s really okay, you know.”

  He looked at her, but he didn’t say anything. What could he say in front of Amber?

  Silently, they trooped down to Amber’s garage.

  WES DROVE WITH BOTH hands on the steering wheel, aware of Brittany’s silence, aware that his immediate apology after Amber had gotten into her car and pulled out of her garage may not have been the right thing to do.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her, period. He should have kept his hands to himself. He should never have gotten a taste of her sweetness and fire.

  But goddamn, she’d kissed him like he’d never been kissed before.

  Even now, all these long minutes later, he was still feeling shell-shocked and emotionally dizzy.

  And despite his apology, despite his admission that he’d gone too far and that kissing her in the first place had been a mistake, he wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to go even farther. He wanted…

  He glanced at her.

  She was looking out the window, subdued, pensive, tired. Hurt?

  He honestly didn’t know. She’d had a long, grueling, emotionally draining day at work. She certainly had the right to be tired.

  But Jesus, what if she’d actually wanted him to kiss her, and then he’d gone and called it a crazy mistake?

  Except, after Amber had come out of her room and interrupted them, Brittany had stood there, looking for all the world as if she were about to cry. He’d apologized—for what he wasn’t sure. Maybe for having to stop kissing her.

  Maybe for being born.

  And she’d said it was okay, but she was so obviously not okay.

  And she was still not okay.

  And he wasn’t either. He felt shaken and desperate and completely turned upside down.

  Wes dragged his eyes back to the road. It was late, but the street was pretty busy. Stores were closed, but some of the restaurants were open. And the bars were still hopping, their neon lights flashing.

  Joe’s Cantina, dead ahead on the right, with its colorful lights and Mexican decor, looked like the kind of place he and Bobby used to hang, sometimes all the way to last call. They’d drink and drink and drink, and then drink some more.

  There was a parking spot open right in front, and he hit his brakes hard, skidding slightly.

  The car behind him blew his horn, then went around them with a flurry of obscene gestures and a squeal of tires.

  That caught Britt’s attention, and she turned to look at him in surprise while he parallel parked.

  “What do you say we go get a drink?” he said as he straightened the car out and pulled up the parking brake. “I could use a shot of tequila.”

  She looked at him, looked at Joe’s Cantina, looked back at him. “I don’t think that’s a good—” She cut herself off. Sat very still for a moment. Took a breath. “Of course, it’s up to you if you really want to go in there and—”

  “I don’t really want a shot of tequila,” he told her. “I want, like, ten.”

  Silence.

  Then, “What do you want me to say to that, Wes?” she said quietly. “You tell me you think you’re an alcoholic. You tell me you want to stop drinking completely. And now you tell me…” She shook her head. “I’m not going to tell you not to drink. If you think you’ve got a problem, you’ve got to stop because you want to, not because of anything I say or do.”

  “I do want to,” he said. “I just… Right now I really, really want to get trashed.” He couldn’t look at her, so he looked at his hands, still holding onto the steering wheel as if it were a life preserver. “See, if I get trashed,” he struggled to find the right words, “then, you know, I can say all the things I can’t possibly say when I’m sober. Like…” He forced himself to look at her. “Like, I want you so freaking bad, I don’t think I can spend another night on the living room couch without completely losing my mind.”

  She laughed—it was more of an exhale than a real laugh, but it was enough to take the edge off of the terror that came from having admitted that.

  “I think you just managed to say it,” she told him.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “I did, didn’t I?” He looked at her, and she didn’t look as if she were about to run screaming from the car. She looked… glad?

  “Let’s skip the getting trashed part, okay?” she said, “and just go home and make love.”

  Her words were music to his ears. God, she was beautiful. She was only partly lit by the streetlamps, and shadows played across her face, accenting her cheekbones and that luscious mouth. Her eyes were shining, and she gave him such a smile, that for a half a second he was sure he heard a choir of angels singing.

  He was either going to cry or laugh, so he laughed and reached for her, and then she was in his arms and kissing him.

  And kissing him and kissing him.

  He wanted to pull her across his lap, wrestle her out of those shorts and unzip his pants and…

  He didn’t give a damn about the fact that they were on a public thoroughfare. That wasn’t what held him back.

  It was that she deserved better than some kind of slam-bang joyride in the front seat of his car.

  Truth was, she deserved better than him, period.

  But, damn, her lips were so sweet, her body so soft. His hand was already up her shirt, his fingers sliding against the smooth perfection of her silky skin, his palm filled with the full weight of her breast.

  She opened her mouth wider, inviting him in, and he kissed her more deeply. But still slowly. If she changed her mind, he wanted her to be able to pull back. To stop him at any point.

  But she didn’t. She made a sexy noise, deep in her throat, as her fingers found the edge of his shirt and she slipped her hand up along the bare skin of his back. Her hand was warm and soft and perfect, just like the rest of her.

  “I want you naked,” she stopped kissing him to whisper.

  Oh, man. He kissed her again, but then had to ask, “Are you sure you really want…this? Me and you, like this? Doing this?”

  “Yes.” She kissed him again, harder, hotter, but then she pulled back. “Are you?”

  “What, are you kidding?” he reached for her.

  But she kept him at arm’s length. “No, I’m not.” She gazed at him searchingly, looking for… what? Reasons they shouldn’t spend the night making love? Man, he hoped she didn’t find them in his eyes.

  He started the car. “Let’s go home, because I really want
you naked, too, and that could draw a crowd here.”

  “Seriously, Wes,” she said as he pulled out into the traffic, signaling to get into the left lane. “What about Lana?”

  “Lana who?” He didn’t know this part of town well, but he was guessing they were about three minutes, tops, from Brittany’s apartment. Three minutes to mind-blowing pleasure.

  Britt laughed. “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “I’m not,” he protested. “I’m just… When I’m with you, baby, I don’t even think about her.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Be a jerk if you have to, but just don’t be a liar. Please?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Okay, look,” she said. “If you want to sleep with me—”

  “I do!” If. She’d actually “if-ed” him. If was such a little word, but it wielded tremendous power. Thirty seconds ago there had been no if, but now there was, and his estimate of mind-blowing pleasure in three minutes was suddenly in jeopardy. One little if could turn a wait of three minutes into a wait of three weeks. Or three years.

  “I really do,” he said again. “Honest, Britt.”

  “Yes!” she said, grabbing his knee and squeezing it. “Honesty—that’s what we need. If you want me to sleep with you, you’ve got to be honest. We both know this isn’t going to be long term or permanent or even particularly meaningful. We’re just…two people who like each other—”

  “Really like each other,” he added.

  “Who find each other attractive—”

  “Outrageously, stupendously attractive.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, but the bottom line is—”

  Here it came.

  “…that we’re just two people who are tired of being alone. And for tonight and the next few nights—or however long you’re going to be in town—we don’t have to be.”

  Thank you, God. Wes pulled into her driveway. “Race you to the door.”

  Brittany laughed. “Do you promise—”

  “Yes.”

  “Wes, I’m being serious.”

  “I am, too, babe. I want to take off your clothes with my teeth and lick every inch of your body. Slowly.”

  Well, that stunned her into silence. He used the opportunity to pull her to him and kiss her, long and hard.

  “Please just be honest with me,” Brittany said between kisses. “Please? About everything, okay?”

  “I will,” he said, kissing her mouth, her face, her throat, and her breasts, right through the cotton of her shirt. “I promise.”

  “That’s all I want.” She laughed. “Well, besides the licking thing.”

  “Let’s go inside,” Wes said.

  HE KISSED BRITTANY on each of the stairs going up to her apartment.

  And he’d unfastened and unzipped her shorts before she even got her key into the door.

  As the screen slammed behind them, Wes kicked the wooden door closed with his foot as he tried to pull her T-shirt up and over her head.

  Britt laughed and tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he was persistent. “Andy?” she called.

  That stopped him.

  The room was dark, and she turned on the little light near the door.

  “I just want to make sure he didn’t come home,” she told him. “Trips can sometimes get canceled and—”

  “Yo, Andy,” Wes called. “You here?”

  Silence.

  Patience not being one of his strong suits, Wes went into the kitchen and down the hall to Andy’s room. Brittany followed more slowly, but he was back in a flash.

  “He’s definitely not here,” he said, and kissed her. And this time she helped him get her shirt off, even as she kicked her sandals from her feet.

  His shirt followed, although he was far more interested in unfastening her bra.

  He swore. “Help me with this, will you? What does it have, a combination lock?”

  Brittany laughed, stepping out of his grasp and reaching behind her to unfasten it, but then she held it on, suddenly feeling not quite shy, but not quite as bold as she had earlier, either. “You really want to get naked in my kitchen?”

  “Absolutely.” He laughed softly. His muscles gleamed in the moonlight coming in through the window, and he looked breathtakingly beautiful, all broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and slim hips. It was amazing that there was actually moonlight to add such atmosphere to this moment. “We’ve spent a lot time these past few days sitting in here, talking. I’ve gotta confess, the entire time, I was dying to see you naked. This is kind of like fantasy fulfillment for me.”

  “Well, when you put it that way…” Britt took off her bra, hanging it over the back of one of the chairs.

  “Oh, yeah,” he breathed. He didn’t reach for her, he just looked, his eyes hot.

  She pushed her shorts off as he watched, then slipped her panties down her legs.

  “Here I am,” she said, loving that look in his eyes, knowing she’d made the right choice tonight. This may not be a forever thing, but it was going to be wonderful. It would be a memory she would cherish for the rest of her life. “Naked in my kitchen. You want some tea?”

  “No.”

  “What? You mean, that’s not part of the fantasy?”

  He laughed. “Nope.”

  “How about hot sex on the kitchen table?”

  “Yup,” he said, slowly reaching out to touch her. Her hair, her cheek, her shoulder. He ran his fingers lightly down her arm, and then over to her breast. The way he was looking at her made her feel impossibly sexy. “But later. First I want to make love to you in your bedroom, in your bed. You know, I’ve spent a lot of time dreaming about that, too.”

  Brittany reached for the button that fastened his shorts, touching him the same way he was touching her—lightly, with only the tips of her fingers. The zipper didn’t go down easily, and she looked up at him and smiled.

  And he kissed her—one of those impossibly tender kisses that he did so well.

  She melted, closing the gap between them, and he drew her in, sighing his pleasure at the sensation of her body against his, her breasts against his chest.

  There was more urgency to his kisses now, or maybe he was just responding to the way she was kissing him, holding him, touching him.

  His hands were everywhere, sweeping her body, touching, exploring, as he kissed her, licked her, tasted her.

  More, more, more. She wanted more. She wanted…

  He knew. And he picked her up, her waist at his shoulder, his hands on her bare butt as he carried her into her bedroom.

  It was so much the opposite of that first sweet kiss they’d shared, that Brittany had to laugh. It was…so Neanderthal, and almost shockingly politically incorrect. And yet it was a total turn-on.

  Maybe it was because physically, Wes wasn’t any kind of a real, hulking caveman, and she wasn’t a lightweight in any sense of the word. Yet he carried her so effortlessly.

  But the tenderness was back as he carefully lowered her to her bed, which was also a turn-on, especially when he took a moment and let himself look at her, and let her see the desire in his pretty blue eyes.

  She was the one who reached for him and finally pulled off his shorts.

  He had nothing on underneath.

  And so much for that cruel myth about short men…

  “Gee,” she said, “I was so anticipating finding out whether you wore boxers or briefs.”

  “Laundry crisis,” he told her with a grin that made her heart flop around in her chest as he joined her on the bed.

  He kissed her and she kissed him, too, reaching for him, wrapping her fingers around him. He was solid and smooth and so incredibly male.

  He laughed.

  “What?” she asked.

  He lifted his head to look down at her. “I’m having one of those ‘This can’t be real’ moments,” he said. “You really want honest?”

  She nodded, her heart in her throat.

  “I feel like I’m getting away with somethin
g here. I’ve talked more with you than any woman I’ve ever known, and you still want to make love to me. I mean, I didn’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not to get you to sleep with me.”

  His honesty would have been breathtaking even if he’d stopped right there. But he kept going.

  “For the first time in my life,” he told her, struggling to find the right words, “I don’t have to worry about, I don’t know, what to say or what not to say. I can say whatever I want, you know? Because I know that you already like me enough not to run away if I say something really stupid or…wrong.”

  Brittany touched his face. “I don’t just like you, sweetie. I think you’re wonderful.”

  “I think you’re pretty wonderful, too, babe.”

  And there they were, smiling at each other, like a couple of kids at the ninth grade dance.

  Except they were naked and in her bed.

  “I want to make you feel good tonight,” he told her with a smile that made her heart do another somersault. He lowered his head to kiss her and as his mouth met hers, her heart did an entire circus act.

  And oh, no. No, no. She couldn’t let herself fall in love with this man. Oh God, wouldn’t that be a mistake.

  Too bad it was too late.

  That was ridiculous. Of course it wasn’t too late. She’d barely known the guy—what was it now? Four days?

  And yet here she was—in bed with him. After only four days. What did she think that meant?

  Nothing. It meant nothing. It meant that she was a woman with a woman’s needs and desires and it had been much too long since she’d last had a sexual relationship. It meant that she was human. It meant that she liked Wes.

  Liked?

  Yes. And, oh man oh man, she certainly liked what he was doing to her. She heard him laugh softly as she moaned. He held her shoulders down, keeping her from pulling him on top of her as he kissed and licked his way from her breasts to her belly button.

  “Please!” she gasped. “Do you have a condom?”

  “I do,” he said. “It’s on your bedside table. But I wasn’t kidding when I told you I wanted to lick every inch of your body.”

  “Oh,” Brittany said. “God. Can we add that to the ‘Later’ list, you know, along with the kitchen table? Because I haven’t made love since about a year before I adopted Andy, and that was a really awful relationship that lasted only about a week.”