Crash Into Me (29 page)

Knowing
he cared enough about her to be disappointed, she felt twice as ashamed of
herself for letting him down.

“How
long have you been here?” he asked.

She
couldn’t help but flush. “A few hours.”

He
squinted down at her, taking in her messy hair and casual attire. “Go make
yourself presentable,” he said. “I need you to work a crime scene.”

Her
stomach tightened. “Another victim? Who is it?”

“A local
fisherman. Some guy named Arlen Matthews.”

Carly wanted to pay for the movie, but
James wouldn’t let her. She had also suggested they skip the movie and go
somewhere they could be alone together.

Honor
demanded he refuse.

James
took his promises very seriously, and he didn’t want to screw up the unspoken
truce he and her dad had called over turkey-and-avocado sandwiches the night
before. Ben had given James permission to take Carly to the theater, not
anywhere else.

She
sulked, but in a denim mini-skirt and black sheepskin boots, she looked damned
good doing it. Her stretchy plum-colored knit sweater covered up what the top
underneath didn’t. This morning, she’d been taunting him with flashes of silky
midriff.

James
didn’t argue with her choice of movie, even though it was an artsy flick,
because he figured that on a date, ladies picked and gentlemen paid. He didn’t
get a chance to go to the theater very often, and when he did, he preferred
mindless action over thought-provoking drama.

So
did everyone else, from the looks of it. Due to either the early-bird show time
or the heavy subject matter, the theater was empty.

It
dawned on him that she’d chosen wisely. “You have great taste in movies,” he
said with a grin.

“Thanks,”
she replied glibly, finding a secluded corner in the back row.

The
multiplex was the new kind, with comfortable bucket seats and adjustable
armrests. He pushed the one between them all the way up.

“Wait,”
she said as he reached for her.

He
looked around the empty theater. “Why?”

“The
lights are still on. Someone might come in.”

James
settled back in his seat, watching concession advertisements float across the
screen. “Want some popcorn?”

She
shook her head.

“Coke?”

“No
thanks.”

The
lights began to dim. Thank God.

“What
do you want?” he whispered, putting his lips against the sweet curve of her
neck.

“You,”
she said in his ear, making him shiver. Then she pushed him away. “But let’s
wait until the movie starts. Lots of people come in during the trailers.”

He
groaned and sat back in his seat, counting the moments until he could kiss her.
There would be four or five previews, at four or five minutes each. A freaking
eternity.

Long
before that time was up, he noticed her fidgeting in her seat beside him. In
the dark, he couldn’t see what she was doing, but when she pressed a wadded-up
ball of fabric in the palm of his hand and said, “Hold these for me,” he
figured it out.

His
heart started pounding in his chest, blood rushed from his head to his groin,
and he swallowed convulsively. Getting rid of the evidence, he shoved her
panties into his pocket, afraid someone would shine a spotlight on him and
arrest them both for lewd conduct. He’d been painfully eager to kiss her, to
make out with her, maybe even feel her up a little bit, but she’d just taken
his innocent fantasy right into porno territory. What was a man to do?

Without
turning toward her, he placed his palm on her bare thigh, picturing in intense
detail what she was wearing. And not wearing.

She
took his hand away and put it on his knee, giving him a reassuring pat. “Wait
until the movie starts,” she repeated, and continued watching the previews with
an incomprehensible serenity.

Sweat
broke out on his forehead as he imagined pushing her back against the seat and
climbing between her long, slender thighs. “I can’t fuck you in the theater,”
he blurted out, loud enough for the first row to hear, if anyone had been
sitting there.

Laughing,
she covered his mouth with her hand. “Shh! Who asked you to?”

Her
panties were burning a hole in his front pocket, and she was wondering where he
got the idea?

“We
don’t have to do anything,” she said, annoyed by his reticence. “Give me back
my panties, and we’ll just watch the movie.”

He
shifted in his chair. “No way. I’m keeping them.”

She
wasn’t getting her way, and she didn’t like it, so she pouted for a few
minutes. Then she said, “I’m going to get popcorn.”

He
held her arm. “No you aren’t.”

She
shrugged, digging a twenty out of her pocket. “You go, then. I want a small
popcorn, a large Coke, and some Red Hots.”

“I
can’t,” he grated.

“Why
not?”

He
brought her hand to his lap and let her feel why not.

“Oh,”
she said, giggling. “That would be noticeable at the concession stand.”

In
the end, she went herself, because even though he was too stubborn to return
her panties, she was too proud to let him order her around. He seethed the
whole time she was gone, imagining her flirting with the popcorn boy, whose
tongue had already been hanging out when he’d watched her walk by on the way
in.

If
he only knew.

She
got back, set the popcorn tub between her legs, and invited him to grab a
handful. He declined.

James
tried to pay attention to the movie, but it was a lost cause. Instead, he
concentrated on stifling his overactive imagination.

Halfway
through the movie, she asked, “What are you going to do with my panties?”

He
turned to look at her beautiful face. In the flickering light, her hair was as
black and shiny as a raven’s wing. “What do you think I’m going to do with
them?”

“Try
them on?” she guessed.

He couldn’t
help but laugh. Then consider. “No,” he decided. “At least, not the way you
mean.”

She
crinkled up her cute little nose, not following his train of thought. “You’re
not going to smell them, are you?”

He
smiled at her ignorance. It was the least he was going to do. “You should have
thought of that before you gave them to me.”

She
bit into her lower lip, concerned. “What if they smell like…”

“Like
what?” he teased, looking down at her lap. “Popcorn?”

“No.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Like me.”

“I
hope they do,” he replied honestly.

Her
breath caught in her throat. “Give them back,” she whispered.

“No,”
he said, standing firm. Or sitting firm anyway.

Unleashing
the fury of a thousand warrior ancestors, Carly leapt on him and raided his
pockets. Popcorn spilled all over the floor. She didn’t find her underwear.
What she did encounter gave her pause. “You’ve been hard this whole time?”

He
wrestled with his conscience, gave up, and pulled her into his lap, sent over
the edge by her touchy-feely version of the Spanish Inquisition. Shoving his
hand between her pretty legs, he did what he’d been desperate to do since she’d
taken off her panties. “You’ve been wet this whole time?”

She
gasped. Then moaned, tilting her hips forward.

He
froze, appalled by his own behavior. Turned on by hers.

They
stared at each other for a long moment. Then she put her arms around his neck
and pressed her lips to his fervently, wriggling on his lap.

James
groaned, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and stroking her with his
fingertips. He had never gotten a girl off before—at least, not on purpose. In
the past, expediency had been key, not technique, tenderness, or generosity.
With Carly, he wanted to give everything, ask nothing in return, so when he
paid attention to what her body wanted, rather than his, he gave them both
their first orgasm. Hers was the first she’d had with another person, and his,
the first he’d granted someone else.

Afterward,
she lay panting in his arms, her face pressed against his neck. “Do it again,”
she whispered.

“I’d
love to, Carly, but I’m having some…technical difficulties.” He took his hand
out from underneath her skirt, moving slowly, trying to think unsexy thoughts.
The danger zone was about to explode.

He
set her away from him, very gingerly.

“What
happened? Did I hurt you?”

“Give
me that Coke,” he ordered. When she did, instead of drinking it, he put it in
his lap. Through the layers of denim (his own) and cotton (borrowed, after a
hasty shower this morning in the poolroom), the cold didn’t do much good.

“Oh,
God! I did hurt you. I’m sorry.” She knelt in front of him, trying to find out
what was wrong. “Did I smash your…parts?”

“No,
Carly,” he groaned. “I’m about to come in my pants. And since I’m wearing your
dad’s underwear, that would be a bad, bad thing.”

She
clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a burst of hysterical laughter.

He
closed his eyes. “I’m glad one of us is having a good time.”

She
was still on her knees when the police found them.

Nathan was having a splendid afternoon on
the deck of his sailboat with Peter. They were moored off the coast of Catalina
Island, enjoying the cool breeze, a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and each other.

When
his cell phone emitted a few notes of “Wipeout,” the ring tone signaling a call
from Ben, Nathan slipped his hand into his pocket. “I’ve got to take this,” he
said, dropping a kiss on the top of Peter’s sun-warmed head.

Whistling
cheerfully, he skipped down the steps leading to the galley, for privacy and to
get out of the wind. The interruption couldn’t have come at a better time.
Peter was charming, handsome, successful, and…yawn. Tediously boring.

“Hello?”
he said into the receiver as his eyes adjusted to the change of light.

“Nathan?
Where are you?”

Ben
seemed frantic. Nathan felt a smile quirk his lips. “I’m out on the water. Must
you always call when I’m otherwise engaged?”

“Sorry.
I’m in jail.”

“In
jail?” Nathan placed a hand over his heart, no longer enjoying his brother’s
distress. “Whatever for?”

“Summer
Moore is a cop.” He muttered a string of inventive curses, the volume
fluctuating as he shifted the phone to his other ear. “That’s not even her real
name. It’s Vasquez or some shit. She’s been investigating me the whole time.”

Nathan
was astounded by this news. He considered himself a good judge of character and
he’d liked Summer. “Why?”

“I
don’t know. Now Carly’s friend is missing and they seem to think I had
something to do with it.”

“Which
friend?”

“Lisette.”

His
stomach sank. Lisette Bruebaker was trouble with a capital
T.
She’d had
a crush on Ben for years, and although she’d been quite overt in showing her
affections, he’d never noticed.

“Why
would they think you’re involved?” Nathan asked carefully.

Ben
sighed. “She was last seen at my house, staying overnight with Carly. And the
rest…the rest I shouldn’t say over the phone.”

Nathan
gripped the phone in his hand until his knuckles turned white. His brother
wouldn’t have touched Lisette, or any other underage girl, with a ten-foot
pole. So why did he sound so worried? “Okay,” he said, checking his Rolex.
“Hang tight. It will take me a few hours to get there.” He paused, considering
the next course of action. “Have you called Dad?”

“No,”
Ben said. And then, “Fuck, no.”

Fair
enough. “What about Carly?”

“She
went to the movies with James. I haven’t been able to reach her. You’ll have to
call her cell phone, tell her where I am.”

“Do
you think that’s wise?”

“It’s
either that or let her freak out about the bullet hole in the ceiling when she
comes home,” he said, raising his voice.

“Jesus
Christ, Ben! Were you resisting arrest?”

“Yes.
No. I don’t know. They broke into my room like gangbusters. I almost had a
heart attack. I didn’t know what the hell was going on.” The connection
crackled with interference. “Is it even legal, for them to barge in like that?”

“In
some cases,” Nathan admitted.

“Like
what?”

“Murder
investigations.”

Ben
was silent for a moment. “What should I do?” he asked quietly.

Nathan
was taking the stairs up to the deck two at a time. “Try to stay calm,” he said,
motioning for Peter to pull anchor. They needed to get back to the mainland,
pronto. “And whatever you do, don’t say anything.”