Chris looked at the glasses of brandy in his hands as if he’d forgotten they were there. Or as if he were buying time to think.
“I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to get started on plastic surgery. They say they can do wonderful things now.” She stood with her right side toward him, hiding as many of her scars as she could. Laughter bubbled into her throat. She swallowed. “I’ll always limp, but I won’t look so—”
“Stop it. Don’t say another word. Please.”
He was shocked. He’d already let her know he didn’t want her advances.
Advances. She wasn’t the kind of woman who made advances. She struggled to pick up her nightie from the bed without turning around and giving him a full view of her back.
“My God, you don’t know anything about me,” Chris said.
She reached the gown and yanked it on over her head. “Yes, I do. Honestly. I don’t know what got into me.” Once she was covered she turned to search for her panties but couldn’t locate them. She couldn’t stop a short burst of laughter. She faced him again. “Don’t leave. That’s all Ι ask. Forget this. Forget my delusions about you. And stay. I’ll never embarrass you like this again.”
“You’re in shock,” he said.
“That’s it,” Sonnie said. “In shock. Not myself.”
Dressed only in black shorts, he loomed even larger than usual. He drank from one of the glasses, but never took his eyes from hers.
“Yes, well, I’m sorry. I already said that, but I am. It honestly won’t happen again.” She calculated the space between him and freedom and made a dash for it.
She made it through the door, and heard shattering glass. He was throwing things….Sonnie clutched at her throat and felt Chris’s fingers close on her upper arm.
“Don’t you move another step. Got it?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Ι’m so sorry. Oh, what have I done?”
“You’re a fool,” he told her. “Maybe you do need major treatment, because you don’t make a whole lot of sense sometimes. You make a move based, I assume, on something you feel. Then you don’t trust your feelings and you gibber. I hate it when you gibber. You’re smarter than that.”
“Yes. Thank you. I’m sorry.”
He shook her. “You say sorry one more time and I won’t be responsible for my actions. You’ve been through too much. Why are you sorry? What are you sorry for?”
“For putting you in a terrible position. For doing what I did, not just once, but twice. Forcing you to confront a woman who was offering herself to you. I know I’m not your type. I probably sicken you.”
She attempted to pull away from him. “We both need to get some sleep.” She managed a smile. “Wimpy will wonder where I am.”
“I just broke two brandy glasses in there.” Chris aimed a thumb over his shoulders. “Your fault. You shocked me, but not the way you think. Does that look like Ι find you sickening?” He pointed to his crotch.
Sonnie glanced down, and quickly away.
“Does it?” he pressed her.
“No.”
“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in that complicated head of yours.”
Did he really want to know? “Women dream about being alone with men like you.”
His smile wasn’t really convincing, but he said, “Who can blame them? Do you dream about being alone with me?”
She felt the blood drain from her head. “Yes.”
“How could you suggest you’re mad? Obviously you’re very sane and all your thought processes are in perfect tune.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m making fun of both of us. If I don’t, I’m likely to turn into an animal, and Ι doubt you’re quite ready for that.”
Light-headedness came, but she willed herself not to give in to it. “I was going to tell you something. Before Romano called. I was going to tell you I’ve thought about you making love to me, and that I wanted you to.”
His eyelids lowered a fraction and his eyes turned darker. He held her by the arms. “Past tense? You don’t still want us to make love?”
“What kind of woman wants to make love when she’s just heard her husband’s dead?”
His lips parted. “A woman who fell out of love with her husband a long time ago? A woman whose husband was cruel? I can’t give you the perfect answer, but I don’t think you’re a monster to want to be alive again. Who sets the rules for what’s appropriate? How long you wear widow’s weeds? When you can stop expecting to be gossiped about if you’ve decided not to leap into the grave after your husband?”
“Let me go.”
He moved in closer, backed her to the wall, and spread his legs to trap her hips between them. “That’s a no.”
This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? Her pulse hammered. She felt it throughout her body. “No. Yes. This is my fault. You’re trying to help my ego. That’s not fair to you.”
Using his forearms to keep her shoulders still, Chris kissed her. This was another new kiss. A faint growl came from his throat, and she was helpless not to answer with her own moans.
Holding her face in his huge hands, he kissed her so deeply she felt he was drawing her into him. He was eating her, and she liked it.
His fingers hurt her scalp.
His erection probed her belly, and her own moisture needed him right there between her legs, right now.
The night was hot and getting hotter. Standing against the wall with Chris, Sonnie was afire and wild, and she didn’t care about all the questions anymore.
A shift and his palms were on her breasts, flattened, rubbing circles that caused her knees to weaken. He looked down at her. “If you want to stop, say it now. Another second will be too late.”
She shook her head and kissed his chest, flipped the tip of her tongue over a nipple until she heard his sharply indrawn breath.
He nipped at her neck and found the raised scars at the back of her shoulder. He smoothed them as if they stimulated him, drew him to her. Once again he kissed her, opened her mouth so wide her head tipped against the wall. Their breathing soughed together, and her breasts rose against his chest. Where her nipples touched him, the intense searing began.
“No.” Struggling, she tried to free herself. She reached a hand sideways along the wall and fought to escape his weight. “No. This isn’t the way it should be.”
“What isn’t the way it should be?”
He sounded as she’d never heard him sound. “Chris—standing here like this. As if we’re out of control. Oh, my God, Chris.” Another sideways push sent her stumbling beneath his arm. She began to fall but caught her balance.
“Out of control is just the way I want it,” Chris said. And he grabbed her by the back of her nightie. “You had your chance. I told you it was going to be too late. It is.” He caught the neck of the nightie and ripped it apart down the back.
Heat and need and lust. Even while she tried to run, she lusted for him.
Chris shot an arm inside the tattered cotton already slipping from her shoulders. He spun her around, picked her up by the waist, and lifted her against him. Her feet dangled free of the floor and she was once more all but naked.
He bowed his head to her breasts and she screamed. The sound shocked her. This couldn’t be her. She’d always been reserved, careful of her reactions and emotions.
With his arms wrapped around her waist, he held her higher and used his mouth on her breasts. He moved his lips in circles that never quite reached her nipples. “I want,” she said, “I want.” But she couldn’t put into words exactly what she wanted.
He licked a nipple and took it into his mouth.
Sonnie pushed a leg between his thighs. She wasn’t gentle. Rubbing him, she grinned at the way he widened his stance to give her plenty of room.
Lowering her feet to the floor, pinning her to the wall, he sank down, and his tongue darted into the folds beneath her pubic hair. Her heart missed beats. She rose to her toes and flatt
ened her hands behind her. All that remained of her nightgown was a destroyed piece of cotton that hung from one elbow.
She was going to climax. Right here in the hall, with Chris on his knees before her, she would climax like some desperate partygoer grabbing release in a darkened corner.
“Chris.” She pulled at his hair. “This is wrong. We’ve got to stop.”
This time her effort to get away landed her on her hands and knees.
Chris covered her instantly. With the fronts of his thighs against the backs of hers, he bent over her back and reached beneath her to hold her breasts. “This is not wrong. I don’t know who twisted your view of sex, but it’s going to get untwisted. Now. You are so ready for me, and baby, I am ready for you.”
He removed one hand and she heard him pulling down his briefs.
“What are you going to do?” She sweated, reached back to try to feel him. “Chris, what…Chris.”
He entered her from behind. First he thrust into her vagina; then he rocked back and forth, grunting with each sweeping inner caress.
Any resistance fled. Sonnie planted her hands and knees and fell into his rhythm, driving against him, feeling him far inside.
Too soon for Sonnie, he ejaculated, and the sound he made was high and uncontrolled. But he continued to rock into her until she dropped her head to the carpet and held still.
Against her back, his jaw was rough and wet with sweat. He kissed her, kissed her scarred hip again and again.
“Why are you doing that?”
“Just kissing it better,” he said breathlessly. “Sonnie, oh, Sonnie, I can’t say anything else.”
He came out of her and she dropped completely to the rug. Chris rolled her over and sat astride her hips. “Did that hurt?”
“Yes. I liked it.”
“You may not when you wake up in the morning. You’re going to be sore. But I guess it’s been a long time.”
She didn’t want to think about that. “A very long time.”
“I’m so glad we did that,” he said, and raised his face toward the skylight. “Thank you, all the good powers that be.”
“I thank them, too,” she said, wondering how she would extricate herself gracefully.
Chris looked into her face. “Good. I think you’re finally learning to be yourself.”
She did believe she’d pleased him, and she smiled. She was so grateful.
“No regrets, Sonnie?”
“No regrets. Whatever happens now, I’ll have you to remember.”
His smile vanished. He retrieved what was left of her nightclothes, found a corner of cloth, and used it as a weapon of torture. He passed it over her sensitive nipples, tickled the corners of her mouth, and finally, efficiently, tied her wrists together with it when she tried to fend him off.
“Sonnie, as long as I’m still breathing, you aren’t going to need much of a memory about me. I intend to be within grabbing distance at all times.”
Twenty-four
Billy Keith was spoiled. Spoiled, self-obsessed, and dangerous. Romano watched the tip of her pointy little tongue connect with a drip of ice cream on the end of her spoon.
She’d ordered him to meet her at Half Shell Raw House, and she’d hung up the phone before he could begin to argue. When he’d arrived at what she’d called “the last place anyone would ever recognize us,” it was two in the afternoon, and he doubted the glass of red wine in front of her was the first, or even the second.
So far she’d refused to reveal her reason for wanting to see him.
“Where Margaret Street meets the Gulf,” she said in a dreamy voice that didn’t impress him. “The perfect spot for an authentic Key West tradition, and this restaurant is a tradition. This area is the real thing, the heart of this island. This is what makes it tick. Fishing.”
He was agitated. “Fish feeds the tourists. Tourists make the island tick. And every day the shopkeepers light candles to the cruise ships.”
“You don’t have a romantic bone in your body.”
“I am in the very best of company.”
Billy took a mirror from her lime green straw purse and checked her lipstick. Apparently pleased with what she saw, she returned the mirror and snapped the bag shut. “You are mean to me. If you weren’t such fun to fight with, I’d leave you.”
Such good fortune was unlikely to come his way, he decided. “I have things to do, Billy. May we get this over with, please?”
“So polite. Romano was always the polite one. Unlike that nasty little prick, Frank. I don’t like those purple clouds. What do they mean?”
“They mean the clouds are purple. I know nothing of such things.”
“It’s bad for my nerves here,” she said. “One day a hurricane is supposed to be coming. The next day it’s not coming. Then there is enough wind to tear out trees and they talk about abandoning the island. Then they say the storm won’t hit here. Exhausting.”
Romano didn’t like the threat of hurricane any more than she did, but he didn’t intend to commiserate with her. “If you don’t have anything else to say to me, I will go now. Please make sure I can reach you.”
“It’s not time for you to go. I don’t know how anyone could eat that,” she said, eyeing what was left of his squid appetizer. She abandoned the ice cream for more wine. “Make sure you practice your poker face.”
He set down his iced tea. “Meaning?”
“Isn’t this a great place? All the locals come here.”
“What was the ‘poker face’ comment about?”
“We’ll get to it. First I want you to relax. Look at the water. Smell the brine.”
“I have looked,” he told her. “And I can smell the sea. I know lots of locals eat here. And it’s got a great, authentic feeling because it is a great authentic place to eat. Love these trestle tables and benches. Love being within spitting distance of the fishing fleet. I love the fish these people serve, and the squid was wonderful. I’ll be back for oysters—alone. And we couldn’t be more obviously trying not to be obvious if we tried.”
The lenses of her dark glasses obliterated her eyes, but they were definitely aimed in his direction. The downward turn of her lips spelled out her mood loud and clear.
“In case you haven’t noticed, just about everyone comes here,” Romano said. “You and I should not be seen having cozy afternoon trysts. If I could have trusted you not to do something foolish, I would not have come.”
“You don’t get to call the shots, darling.” Her lovely face came nearer. She pushed the bowl of melted ice cream aside and leaned even farther across the table. “Do you want to talk about Cory Bledsoe?”
“You—”
“Ah, ah. Poker face, remember?”
“Bitch,” Romano said, but rolled a cigar between his fingers and held it to his ear. Too bad she would remain a necessary nuisance. Not that she wasn’t frequently enjoyable.
She laughed. “Very good. I do believe I admire you sometimes. Chris Talon is a liability.”
The cigar lost its appeal. “Don’t be a fool.”
With her right index fingernail, she made whirlpools in the wine. “Did you say you wanted to talk about Cory Bledsoe?”
“Shut up,” he told her. “You’re as guilty as I am.”
“Am I?” The glasses came off and he got the full force of her extraordinary eyes. “Who would believe it? After all, how was I to guess he’d walk in like that. But that’s not the point. I think you’re losing your nerve and that won’t do. Not now.”
“Losing my nerve? I have everything in perfect control. Soon it will be time to go to Sonnie and talk. Today, I think. Talon told her what I told him to tell her. It was perfect. They think I asked him to break the news because we accept him. She called me and she doesn’t sound herself. Whatever that is. She is almost ready. We will persuade her that we need to get away from this place. Together. We will soon have everything we want.”
“Not with Talon glued to her.” Her wine-soaked fingertip
came to rest on his lips. “I told you they were getting too cozy. They’ve been together since last night. Like Siamese twins. Every moment since last night. I assume you understand what I’m telling you. He’s trouble, I tell you. I’ve asked around. He was a hotshot detective. New York. Narcotics. Chris Talon is a hard, hard, man and for some reason he’s decided to stick to my sister like superglue. God, what a waste.”
There were times when Romano detested Billy’s cruelty to Sonnie. At least for him there was nothing personal about what he had to accomplish with his brother’s wife. “A waste because you wish he was fucking you instead?”
That nail jabbed into his lower lip and she snatched her hand away before he could grab it. “First I intend to try talk therapy,” she said. “I’m going to do my best to convince that lovely man that he’s wasting good time on a sicko he can’t save.”
Panic rushed to his head. “You won’t go near him. You won’t say a word. You’ll give everything away. If he is this hotshot narcotics detective you say he is, he will not be easily fooled. And if we are really unfortunate, he will turn his policeman’s eyes on us because he will wonder why you would speak so of your sister.”
“You forget how often I’ve been told I’d make a great actress.”
Romano tasted blood on his lip. “You were told, a long, long time ago, that if you played tennis as well as you made a fool of yourself on court, you’d be a great champion. Apparently you’ve chosen to interpret those embarrassing statements differently.”
Her face paled. “I hate you. I hate you and I’ll make you pay for what you just said.”
“Do not lose focus, my dear. Not yet, or we will fail. If we fail…”
“When will you get together with Sonnie?”
“Υοu don’t want to face possible consequences.” There was no satisfaction left in taunting her. “We must both go to her. That is the appropriate way. We will discuss the news and beg her to come north with us. After all, we must stay together in our grief. We must suffer together, cry together.”
“Throw up together.”
He smiled, but the taste in his mouth was bitter. “I think you forget that I loved my brother.”
“You don’t know he’s dead. Not for sure.”
Key West Page 28