He's the One

by Cat Johnson

  Chapter Three

  James waited for Ella’s answer with an expectation that he didn’t want to feel. He hadn’t come to Baja hoping for anything but a few days without expectation, grief, or a page from the beeper he’d left at home. He certainly hadn’t expected his estranged wife.

  Who stood before him like a tempting, forbidden treat with her long, wild, blond curls playing peek-a-boo with her torso and shoulders, her clear blue eyes full of the wanting she wouldn’t admit to, and then there was her mouth. God, that mouth, with the full, pouty lips that could give a grown man a wet dream, damp from her own nervous tongue.

  His first response had been a resounding, Yeah, baby.

  But then they’d gotten to the part of her story where he realized she hadn’t come here for him at all. It’d been her work, again, the same work that had split them up. Thanks to the kind of characters she investigated—the scum of the earth, basically—she’d been manhandled into this helpless, compromising position, and that both terrified and infuriated him because one day she was going to get herself killed.

  And he’d have to bury her.

  His heart clenched good and hard over that. When they’d been together, she’d had him popping Tums like candy, and he couldn’t handle it. Now, with a few months of distance beneath his belt, he figured he deserved a little revenge for his heart, which she’d broken.

  Make that decimated.

  Oh yeah, definitely he had a little payback coming his way, and he was nothing if not a man who made the best of his time. Well aware that the only thing protecting her modesty was his chest against hers, he shifted back an inch.

  Her towel hit the floor.

  “James.”

  Probably not his smartest idea, letting the towel fall, because with her standing there wearing exactly nothing, virtually his captive, his every muscle shifted to full alert status.

  She tried to turn away, which was not easy restrained as she was. She bumped into his fully clothed body, things shimmying and shaking, mostly her glorious breasts. She had tan lines, which dissolved his bones right then and there. Her breasts gleamed pale and beautiful, and between her legs she’d waxed or shaved, or whatever it was a woman did to drive men right out of their minds.

  She let out an infuriated sound and fought with the cuffs. It was sick of him, he knew, but he was getting off on this.

  “This is ridiculous,” she spat out.

  No, what was ridiculous was what the feel of her bare ass to the front of his crotch was doing to him. He spun her back around to face him. “Then you should be able to say the words. And when you do, I’ll uncuff you and we’ll go on our merry way. Our merry single way.”

  She went very still. “Is that what you want?”

  Christ, no. “Just say it.”

  She lifted her free hand, presumably to cover some part of herself or another, or maybe to smack him, and he caught it, holding it out to her side.

  “Say it.”

  “Fine. I don’t want y—” As before, the words tripped on her tongue and she closed her eyes.

  He realized he’d been holding his breath, but something surged through him now. It felt like triumph, but also a bone-quivering relief.

  His gut had told him the truth. She still wanted him. Damn, Ella. He didn’t know whether to kiss them both stupid or shake the hell out of her and demand to know why she’d sent those divorce papers. “Finish it.”

  She licked her lips. “I . . .”

  Looking into her huge baby blues, he momentarily couldn’t see the body he wanted to drop to his knees and worship but that didn’t matter. Her dazzling, lush curves had imprinted themselves on his brain years ago. Had he thought he was merely exacting a little revenge? Like hell. More like sinking his own ship here. But definitely, he liked her tied up. Liked it that she couldn’t run, couldn’t go off to her dangerous job, couldn’t do anything but face him.

  Which she hadn’t had to do in too damn long.

  “Okay, but you’d better listen,” she warned him.

  “Because I’m only going to say this once.” She stared at a spot just over his shoulder. “I. Don’t. Want. You. Anymore.” She shot him a shaky smile. “There.”

  “Uh-huh.” She was gorgeous and smart and funny, and everything he’d once upon a time wanted, but she was a horrible liar. And she was lying, he had no doubt, a particularly fascinating fact.

  Also fascinating, against him her body was screaming the opposite. Her heart raced, her nipples bore two hard points into his chest, while her skin radiated a heat that had nothing to do with the warm evening. It caused a surge of excitement through his own body that he hadn’t felt since . . . since he’d been with her.

  “I said it,” she whispered into his silence, lifting her head slowly, which had her out-of-control hair tickling his chin and throat in agonizing little butterfly kisses. “So now you have to undo me.” Her nose just barely glanced along his throat, and all of it combined, slamming home memories of the times they’d been together, when he’d practically inhaled her every night.

  They’d never been able to get enough of each other. “You lied.”

  “Did not,” she said. Her eyes were still wide, dilated nearly black. Her breathing was shallow, and he knew damn well that wasn’t fear.

  “I have proof,” he said, and slid his fingers along her jaw until they sank into her hair. Her eyes drifted shut again, slowly. She’d always loved when he’d played with her hair.

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  “You can’t catch your breath.” He dipped his mouth to the spot beneath her ear, which he knew was incredibly sensitive to his touch.

  She shivered.

  Now he was the one cheating and he didn’t care. He danced his other hand down her free arm, then squeezed her hip before skimming up the bare skin along her ribs. He spread his fingers wide, so they rested just beneath her breast as he let his gaze once again fall over her. “God, El.” His entire body clenched, hard and throbbing. “How could you have forgotten what it’s like between us?”

  She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, and he wanted to do the same. He wanted to gobble her up whole. “Your nipples are hard.” He glided his thumb along her highest rib, just barely brushing the curve of her breast.

  “Maybe I’m cold,” she said in that same shuddery voice that told him she was having as much trouble controlling herself as he was.

  “It’s ninety degrees in here.” He was sweating. She had a fine sheen to her skin, as well. He wanted to lap it up. Wanted to lap her up. His thumb slid over her nipple, catching on the very tip.

  Both of them caught their breath.

  Her head fell back and thunked against the wall. He leaned in, mouth open, to nibble at her throat, but that was instinctive, that was affection and heat, and he stopped a breath away because this wasn’t supposed to be about any of that. Damn, he’d nearly forgotten. He was trying to prove a point here. “Maybe you are cold,” he allowed with some disbelief. “But there’s one reaction you always give me that has nothing to do with being chilled.” With that, he glided his fingers down her belly, her muscles quivering at his touch.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she whispered.

  “Oh, I’m thinking about it, Super Girl.”

  “James,” she choked out as he stroked a finger over her mound, then into her petal-soft folds.

  “You’re wet.” His legs nearly buckled at the feel of her. “Is this for me, Ella?”

  Letting out a half whimper, half sob, her free hand fisted in his shirt. Definitely not a sound of distress, he noted, but of arousal, and he groaned as he sank into that creamy heat.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “So I lied. So I want you. It’s only because I haven’t had sex in too long and I ran out of batteries, so don’t flatter yourself.”

  His gaze met hers as his thumb found her clit and lightly stroked.

  Her eyes went opaque. Her fingers dug further into his chest, pulling out more than a few ha
irs, which made him wince, but he kept up the torment. It was the least of what she deserved.

  “I’m going to go off like a rocket,” she gasped.

  Yeah. And he wanted to see it, feel it. Cause it. Wanted to remind her exactly what she was missing out on. Pride and brainless ego on his part? Maybe. He didn’t care. He kept stroking her.

  “James.” A few more chest hairs were lost. “Stop.”

  Damn, the magic word. He stopped but left his hands on her.

  She dropped her head to his chest and gulped for air. “I told you,” she said tightly, head still down on his chest. “I told you what you wanted to hear. Now please, James, get me free.”

  He didn’t want to, but there was something in her voice that stopped him cold, and he was deathly afraid it was tears. “Okay,” he said quietly, and stroked a hand over her long, wild hair. She was trembling, and his heart wrenched. Christ, he was an ass. “Okay,” he murmured again softly. “I’ll free you.” He just wished she meant only the handcuffs, and not their marriage.

  Or that he’d been the one bound, because one thing was damn sure, he didn’t want to be free.

  Chapter Four

  Ella turned from James and set her hot face to the wall. She felt him move away, even out of the room, and she told herself she didn’t care.

  Then, though he didn’t make a sound, she knew he was back. She didn’t look at him.

  Couldn’t.

  She still wanted him. She’d never stopped wanting him.

  Neither was a crime, but thanks to his torturing of her for his own amusement, she had so many emotions battering her, she didn’t know which one to start with. Furious, aroused, and embarrassingly close to tears for reasons she didn’t understand, she shifted to hug herself.

  Only to discover she could use both arms.

  James had released her.

  Still facing the wall, she rubbed her wrist, gave herself a bolstering pep talk along the lines of, You can do this, you can face him and not let him see how much he’s destroyed you, and slowly turned back.

  She was alone.

  Bending, she grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her torso. With her armor back in place, she stared at herself in the mirror. Yikes. She needed an entire tube of no-frizz and an hour with her makeup bag.

  But first things first. She stepped out of the bathroom. The cottage was cozy but small. Single bedroom, living room, and kitchen open to each other. It’d come casually painted in beachy, muted colors of light blue and earth tones, and the little bit of furniture they’d put in matched. They’d bought the place as a fantasy escape, but their harsh reality had been that they’d rarely had the time to come.

  Or Ella hadn’t. In the past two years her job had cut into her personal time considerably, something else James had hated.

  But for the first time she’d had a career, not just a job, and Ella had loved feeling needed.

  With perfect twenty-twenty hindsight, she could admit she’d given her job more than she’d given her marriage, and that shamed her to the core.

  But James had never needed her. He’d loved her, passionately, of that she had no doubt, but he’d never needed her. Not like she’d needed him.

  Still, their relationship had deserved more. James had deserved more.

  In one sweeping glance she could tell she was entirely alone. The west-facing wall was all windows, open to the ocean. The sun had gone down, leaving the sky flaming in purples and blues, and there, at the water’s edge, stood the shadow of a man.

  James.

  As she watched, he stripped out of his shirt and pants in economical movements, his tanned, sleek, hard flesh nothing but a blur in the night as he lifted his arms and dove into an oncoming wave. She lost sight of him after that.

  It wasn’t the first time. She’d lost sight of him when he’d walked his damn fine ass out of their house six months ago, which had nearly killed her.

  But thoughts like that one only made her sad, and she didn’t have time for sad. She needed to get home. Needed to get back home to Los Angeles, and then up to Santa Barbara to get onto the Valeska.

  And yet she stood staring out at the ocean, at the occasional flash of James, swimming as if the devil himself was on his heels. It used to be she’d go to him . . .

  But his problems were no longer hers. He was no longer hers, and to prove it she turned away to grab her duffel, still on the couch. She’d grab some clothes, get dressed, and go.

  Any minute now.

  With a sigh, she dropped her towel and grabbed the bikini off the floor, the one she’d stripped out of a couple of hours ago, before hopping into her fated shower. She slipped back into the wet scrap of material thinking the modesty was silly, considering James had just seen her stretched out and captive for his perusal, but she figured it might put them on more even ground.

  Even ground was good, and she was a master of finding it. After living with well-meaning but hard-to-please parents all her life, then a string of boyfriends who’d lasted for less time than her string of meaningless jobs, she’d learned what she wanted.

  And that was to be appreciated for being who she was. Whoever that woman turned out to be. She’d thought James had been the man to do it, but she’d learned things didn’t always turn out how she wanted. That was life.

  She stepped outside into the warm night. There were no city lights, no highway noises, nothing marring the still, humid air but the sound of the waves pounding the shore and the small sliver of the moon lighting her way. She walked the sand until the water lapped at her toes. Every few seconds or so, as the waves shifted and moved, she could still see James bodysurfing, working his long, lean muscles for all he was worth, swimming out some nameless demon that she had a feeling might have a name after all.

  Hers.

  He took a four-foot swell, diving into the arc of water with skill and precision. He’d always swum like a fish, and standing there watching him, Ella was hit with a wave of her own, filled not with water but yearning and memories that made her want to sink to her knees and pound the sand in frustration.

  She’d missed him, so damn much.

  They’d met three years ago when she’d still been just a clerk at the insurance company. Big surprise, she’d butted into a case that had gone bad, and had been mugged coming out of her parking garage late one night.

  James had been the responding officer.

  And the rest was a sweet, sexy, shivery, heavenly blur as he’d insinuated himself into her life until she couldn’t remember what she’d done without him.

  She’d been forced to remember that very thing these past six months.

  The water was nearly the same temperature as the air, and as she waded out, the black, swirling depths and the dark night sky above her blended into one, like a comforting blanket. When she could no longer touch the bottom, she began to swim.

  As if sensing her coming, James turned. She couldn’t see his features but felt his eyes search hers as he waited for her. “Still here?” he asked.

  “I wanted to talk to you before I left.”

  “Why?”

  Why? She blinked at that, but he took the next swell, giving her time to think about her answer. When he came close again, tossing back his wet hair, his face and shoulders gleaming in the moon’s reflection, she tried a smile. “Maybe to thank you?”

  Treading water, Ella remembered in vivid Technicolor how they used to thank each other for things. With sexual favors. She’d always wanted the same one, his talented mouth on her body. He, however, had been forever inventive with his own owed favors, and she’d never known what to expect—maybe to find herself bent over the arm of the couch for him to take her from behind, or on her knees before him . . . and then there’d been the time he’d requested a raunchy striptease on their brand-new kitchen table, culminating in dinner, which, in fact, had turned out to be her.

  “You’d have been fine if I hadn’t shown up,” he said now, his eyes dark and glimmering with the same memorie
s. If that was so, she marveled at his ability to keep his cool, because even in the water, she was beginning to sweat.

  “Yeah, maybe.” She managed to smile at him. “But I’m glad I didn’t have to find out.”

  He treaded water effortlessly beside her, saying nothing. His manner bespoke quiet, rock-solid confidence. It always had.

  She, however, had to work at feeling confident on the best of days. “I know I was unwise today,” she admitted, getting a little breathless from keeping herself afloat. “Letting my guard down like I did.”

  “Wasn’t the first time,” he said, not at all breathless.

  “No, it wasn’t. But at least I didn’t get myself mugged in the parking lot, and then splashed across the human interest section of the paper.”

  One black eyebrow shot up. “Or locked in the meat freezer of a packing plant, and then on the front page.”

  That had been last year, and after his fury had worn off, he’d had the nerve to laugh at her. “Or locked in a trunk,” she said softly.

  Another episode, from eight months back, and he let out a sound that might have been frustration or dark humor as he shook his head. “Good thing you had your Nextel on you that time.”

  “It’s a good thing I had you on the other end of my Nextel,” she corrected. “Come on, admit it, some of my more colorful cases might have brought me trouble and grief, but you eventually always found the humor in the situation. You think I’m cute.”

  He shot her a baleful look and caught another wave.

  She watched him vanish beneath the black, swirling water, then caught sight of his strong, lean body riding the crest. When he came back, she reached out for him, setting her hand on his rock-solid shoulder to hold herself up.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  “Nah. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t too cold.”

  He snorted and slid his hands to her hips, still treading without effort, now supporting both of them. “Still stubborn, I see.”

  “And you still have to be right all the time.”

  “Yeah.” He toyed with the bathing suit string low on her hips. He’d always loved this particular suit, and as he tangled his fingers in the ties on either side, her brain tangled with memories of what exactly those fingers could and had done to her. “I’m thinking of switching departments,” she heard herself say. “Back to investigating worker’s comp cases instead of fraud.”