by Lori Wilde
He sat across from the bed, his arms spanning the back of the love seat, an ankle cocked over one knee, looking as if he was the king of the world.
At that moment, in her eyes, he was.
He’d outfoxed Bunnie and that was no small feat.
“Her name was Natalie Nash,” he said, sitting up straighter, dropping his leg to the floor. “She was eighteen, I was seventeen.”
“Ah, the older woman. Let me just jot this down. Exactly where did this cherry-popping assignation take place?”
“We were both counselors at Camp Wonamunga.”
“In the Catskills?”
“You’ve been there?” Sam’s voice perked up. Obviously he had mistaken her for some kind of secret wilderness girl.
“Are you kidding?” she said. “This is as rustic as I get. No sleeping on the ground or going without a shower for me, thank you very much. I’m not a huge fan of wild critters or crawly things.”
“You’ve never been camping?”
“Once. And once was more than enough. My father took us. It was a nightmare. We had to go to the bathroom in this little building that stunk to high heaven.”
“It’s called an outhouse.”
“I lost my prettiest pair of sandals in a mud bog. Dad forced me and my sister Morgan to go fishing. Ugh. And I got so many mosquito bites it looked like I had the measles.”
“I love camping,” he said wistfully. “Love getting out of the city and breathing that clean mountain air. My two sisters love it as well.”
“Okay I’m the weird one because I don’t like clean, fresh air and spiders and snakes. Back to your story.” She tapped the pen against her notepad. “How did you do the deed?”
“Missionary position on the folding table at the camp Laundromat at two o’clock in the morning after getting thrashed on cheap strawberry wine.”
“There’s no such thing as expensive strawberry wine,” she pointed out.
“My tastes weren’t so sophisticated then.” He chuckled. “I guess not much has changed. I still don’t know chardonnay from rosé.”
“One’s white, the other’s red.”
“See what’d I tell you? I’m hopeless when it comes to being stylish and urbane.”
“Is that a warning?”
“A promise. You don’t do camping. I don’t do wine tasting.”
“Duly noted.”
His gaze met hers. There was so much that went unspoken, but in his eyes she saw his thoughts. You’re filet mignon, I’m baloney. You’re the Eiffel Tower, I’m the windmill on a minature golf course. You’re a sleek thoroughbred, I’m a Shetland pony.
She had a sudden overwhelming urge to fling herself into his arms and tell him that she loved baloney sandwiches and minigolf and Shetland ponies. And that her favorite movie of all time was Lady and the Tramp.
“Do you ever feel like you’re two different people?” she asked, not even knowing she was going to ask it. She felt stupid for doing so and then didn’t know how to get out of the question without making a big deal of it.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that. I’m not crazy. I mean do you ever feel like you’re traveling down one road when you’re supposed to be on a totally different path and you don’t know where you took the wrong turn or how to get back to where you’re supposed to be? Or even if that other path exists?”
“You’re talking parallel universes?”
“No, nothing that woo-woo.” She waved a hand. “Forget it. I’m not making any sense.”
“I sort of know what you mean,” he said. “Like you’ve drifted off course and if you hadn’t drifted you might be a completely different person.”
“Not drifting,” she said. “I don’t drift. I move. I plot. I grabbed the wrong brass ring.”
He looked at her with such compassion, she felt confused. Had he misunderstood her? Did he think she was pathetic? She shook her head, anxious to dispel any misconceptions she might have given him.
“I’m babbling,” she said. “Making no sense. Too much Amaretto and ginger ale.”
“So what about you?” he asked. “Tell me about your first time?”
Briefly she thought about telling him the truth. That it had been a quick, slightly painful experience when she was sixteen that had left her thinking, What’s the big hairy deal? She’d done it with the captain of the swim team on the pool table in his parents’ rec room and he told the whole locker room about it the next day.
But that was so clichéd, Cass decided to class up the story.
“My first lover was Russian pianist man. He took me to the Augusta Hotel in Boston where we spent the weekend dining on room service caviar and French champagne. He taught me the ways of love, composed a steamy torch song for me and gifted me with a diamond necklace to remember him by.”
“Wow,” Sam said. He looked taken aback. “You were stylish, urbane and sophisticated from the get-go.”
“Uh-huh,” she fibbed but she could no longer look him in the eyes.
“What other questions do you think Bunnie will ask?”
“You can just figure it will be something embarrassing and sexual.”
“Like have you ever done it in a public place?”
“Yes.”
“Have you?”
Cass smiled. “Yes and after your laundry room story we know you have, too.”
“Okay, I’ve got one.”
“Fire away.”
“Ever had a one-night stand?”
“No,” she answered honestly. “You?”
“Twice and I felt badly about it both times. I’m just not a one-night stand kind of guy.”
“No?”
He shrugged. “It just feels too selfish.”
“Oh. Ever get anyone pregnant?”
“No. You ever been pregnant?”
“Had a scare once, but everything turned out all right. Ever had a venereal disease?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
“In fact, in case it should come up, my doctor recommends regular STD and HIV testing as part of a routine annual physical for sexually active singles. I’m clean as a whistle with the papers to prove it.”
“My doctor too. Clean as a whistle as well. You ever been married?”
“Are we still telling the truth here?” His eyes burned into hers.
Seconds went by, their gazes locked on one another.
“It’s up to you.”
“Yeah, I was married once. When I was twenty-three. Lasted nine months.”
“What happened?”
“She woke up one day, realized I was never going to be Donald Trump and left. You?”
“Never married.”
“Ever come close.”
“Nope.”
“Ever wanted to come close?”
“I’ve never given it much thought.”
“Come on, a woman nearing thirty, biological clock’s ticking, you have to have thought about it.”
She didn’t know why, but Cass didn’t like the direction this conversation had taken. She sat up. “I’m pretty tired. I’m going to get ready for bed.”
“Sure, sure.” He sprang to his feet. “I think I’ll go for a walk on the beach, clear my head and give you some privacy.”
“Just don’t let Bunnie or Trevor catch you. We’ll be disqualified for taking off the handcuffs.”
“I’ll be invisible.” He went out the front door, she scurried into the bathroom.
It was only after she’d showered, brushed her teeth, rubbed down her skin with pear-scented body lotion and dressed in silk emerald-green pajamas that Cass realized they hadn’t discussed sleeping arrangements. There was only one bed in the one-room bungalow.
One bed and that tiny, cramped little love seat.
Cass groaned. The only positive side she could see in the whole arrangement is that at least they weren’t still handcuffed together like the rest of the poor, miserable guests.
Except the rest of the guests were probably e
njoying being chained to their partners.
Cautiously, she opened the bathroom door and peered out. Sam wasn’t back yet. Breathing a sigh of relief, she shut off the overhead light, but left the one on in the bathroom and the door slightly ajar so Sam wouldn’t whack his shins on something in the dark when he came in. She scampered to the bed, dove under the covers and shut her eyes tight.
Why had she told Sam all that weird stuff about feeling like she was leading an alternate life? She hadn’t even known she’d felt that way until she started talking. She thought she was perfectly happy. More than happy. Delirious in fact.
Obviously, she wasn’t.
But when and where had these feelings come from? Was it the discussion she’d had with Morgan last Sunday? Was it a lurking feeling that she just didn’t have what it took to be a wife and mother so she kept telling herself she never wanted any of those things? She wasn’t good with serious stuff. She flaked out when things got hairy. Like when Nikki, her best friend from high school, got sick.
She thought about it a minute, then decided there was nothing to worry about. She got up then and painted her toenails a lovely color of turquoise.
And she immediately felt better about life.
Tomorrow, she’d make sure Sam understood she’d just been teasing. The last thing she wanted was to have that man feeling sorry for her.
WALKING BACK UP THE BEACH path to Bunnie’s mansion, Sam’s head was filled with thoughts of Cass.
I want her. I want her. I want her.
His blood pulsed out the beat of his desire, pushing restlessly against his veins. Just being near her made him feel restless and edgy and by nature he was not a restless, edgy man. He didn’t know what to do with these emotions or the adrenaline whirling inside him.
I want to make love to her. I want to hold her. I want to know her. I want to understand her.
He raised the wrist that had been shackled to hers, pressed it to the back of his nose, torturing himself with the smell of her fragrance mingling saucily with his own.
Princess Oil of Olay meets Detective Sergeant Lifebuoy.
It wasn’t a bad aroma.
Intriguing actually. A blossoming yellow daffodil floating on an ocean of wheat-brown sandalwood.
He thought of Cass back there in the bungalow, in the shower, running a bar of soap over her wet naked skin. She was a beauty. If fun-loving, fast-living party girls were your type.
Cass engulfed the world in an irresistible embrace, in gestures of both self-love and largesse. Sam admired her ability, liked getting caught up in the swoon of her nirvana. But maybe Cass wasn’t quite the fun-loving, fast-living party girl she pretended to be. The odd question she’d asked him was still bouncing around in his head as he tried to figure her out.
You ever feel like you’re two different people?
Like a thief and an upstanding citizen? he wondered.
If he’d been able to tell her the truth, he would have answered yes. At times like these, when he was setting up a suspect or going undercover, masquerading as someone or something he wasn’t in order to achieve his goal. Lying was occasionally part of his job and he didn’t like the subterfuge, no matter how necessary.
He strode through the back gate and into Bunnie’s yard. The grounds were still strewn with party debris, empty champagne bottles, crumpled napkins, leftover food. Bunnie was sitting at the picnic table waiting for him. He smelled her cigarette before he saw the small orange glow in the darkness.
Menthol. Virginia Slims.
“Wanna drink?” She hoisted the martini pitcher and an extra glass.
Sam shook his head and seated himself across from her. The thought of a drink was tempting. Alcohol would make this meeting go down easier. But he was here to cement Bunnie’s cooperation in his sting—and put some much needed distance between himself and Cass—not to make things easier for him.
“Suit yourself.” Bunnie shrugged and topped off her glass.
“I want to thank you, Ms. Bernaldo, for so generously helping out with my investigation.”
She shrugged. “I was having the party anyway. Your changes to my game plan were small and easy to incorporate.”
He only hoped this didn’t backfire on him. He hadn’t gone through the proper channels or gotten approval from his boss. When Cass had stopped by the precinct with that old French book, she’d dropped the opportunity in his lap and he’d seized it.
It was unusual for Sam to gamble like this. He was a team player. But while his superiors certainly wanted him to solve the Blueblood Burglar case, wealthy people having their expensive jewelry stolen didn’t qualify for his full attention or the outlay of additional departmental funds.
He was here alone. With no backup and one small gun. Just him and his cop’s determination. Was it enough?
“You really think Cass is the Blueblood Burglar?” Bunnie asked.
“Just following the leads.”
“She’s a good person. Generous, kindhearted, a lot of fun.”
“Fun people commit crimes, too.”
“You like her, don’t you?” Bunnie took a long drag off her cigarette.
He nodded.
“Tough break. Having a crush on your suspect.”
“Did you check your valuables?” he asked, ignoring her comment.
“So far so good.”
“Let’s hope things stay that way. You ready for tomorrow?”
She patted her pocket. He heard paper crinkle. “Got your list.”
“Good.” He stood. “I better get back. In case Cass comes looking for me.”
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“I hope you’re wrong about her.”
Sam met her gaze. “So do I, Bunnie. So do I.”
WHEN SAM CAME IN thirty minutes later Cass pretended to be dead asleep.
“Cass? You awake?”
She didn’t answer. Coward.
She felt the mattress sag as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Cautiously, she opened her eyes a slit and peered at him. He was leaning over, his face cloaked in shadows as he unlaced his gawdawful Doc Marten boots.
He turned his head toward her.
Quickly, she shut her eyes. She heard the boots hit the floor, plunk, plunk. Heard him breathing.
Was he watching her? It felt as if he was watching her. She wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of him watching her when she couldn’t watch him back.
So open your eyes.
Nothing doing. She didn’t want to be the one to have to sleep on the love seat. Coward, coward.
He got off the bed. The mattress sprang back up. She heard the erotic sound of his belt slithering softly through the loops as he took it off. This time she did open her eyes.
His face was turned away from her, the light from the bathroom falling across his bare back. He had already taken off his shirt and slung it over the love seat. His chest was magnificent. Lots of sit-ups had gone into sculpting those abs.
Involuntarily, she licked her lips.
He stretched fully, like an animal, powerful and elemental. Even in the darkness, her face flushed hot. She felt feverish, adrift in some delirious dream.
Her body hummed as she watched him. Her senses buzzed as the room seemed to grow smaller and smaller and he seemed to grow bigger and bigger. She was damp and sticky and oh so achy.
He tugged off his pants and then shucked off his underwear. Cass squeezed her eyes shut again, unable to handle the intensity of his nakedness, but not before she caught a glimpse of his firm, lean-muscled thighs and tight butt.
A shiver shot through her.
Did he know she was awake?
He came back and slid between the sheets without stopping to put on a pair of briefs. He was buck naked in bed with her.
She froze, tensed. Not knowing what to do. She wanted to get more comfortable but was afraid to move around. Was he going to reach for her? Were they going to make love?
A minute passed. Then two. Then ten.
/> Was he just going to fall asleep? The thought disappointed her.
Although it was a stupid thing to do under the circumstances, she let herself think about kissing him. His mouth crimson-hot on hers, his hands splayed flat against her spine as he leaned her backward.
She tossed, turned, closed her eyes and then opened them to stare at the digital clock glowing ghostly orange from the nightstand.
An hour had passed.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice was an electrical jolt, intense and jarring.
“No. You either?”
“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“Oooh, sarcasm. Learned that on the mean streets, didja, detective?”
“Anyone ever tell you that you had a sassy mouth?”
“Only men who wanted to kiss me. You want to kiss me, Sam?”
“What do you think?” He almost growled.
“So why don’t you?”
He turned in the bed and his leg brushed lightly against hers. All the air rushed right out of her lungs. But then he didn’t move again, or speak.
Don’t forget to breathe. Take a long slow deep breath in. Let it out nice and even. The hairs on her arm rose in anticipation. She waited. Still, he said nothing. I don’t care that he’s not answering me. No big deal. Maybe I misread his signals. He got into bed naked. What was there to misread?
“I don’t want to start something I can’t finish,” he said. Just when she was beginning to think he might have lapsed into a coma.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m ready for a relationship. I get the definite impression you’re leery of anything long term.”
“You’re naked,” she pointed out. “If you’re really looking for long term then why didn’t you put some underwear on?”
“I always sleep naked.”
“You could have made an exception this time, if you really didn’t want anything to happen.”
“Do you want something to happen?”
“I have to tell you, Sam, this is the lamest seduction anyone’s ever tried on me.”
“I’m not trying to seduce you.”
“That’s really good because it’s not working.”
“You horny yet?”
“Hell, yes.”