Cruising the Strip (25 page)

“Please.” Melinda’s lids were heavy, her mouth soft and vulnerable. “I so want you to touch me. Everywhere. Will you?”

By way of answer, Ari guided her to the bed and gently lifted the robe from her shoulders. “Lie down.”

“Take your clothes off, too. Please.”

“Are you sure?” The part of Ari’s brain that was still functioning reminded her that Melinda’s fantasy might not have included having a naked woman in her bed. “I’ll be more than happy just to touch you.”

Melinda smiled. “Oh, I want you to touch me. And I want to feel your body against mine when you do.”

Ari kicked off her shoes, shrugged out of her jacket, and shed her shirt, pants, holster, and underwear in record time. Despite the flurry of activity, when she moved to the bed she slowed, leaned over Melinda, and kissed her again, her breasts barely brushing Melinda’s. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Melinda reached up and circled Ari’s shoulders once more, pulling her down against the length of her body. “Please.”

Ari slipped her thigh between Melinda’s legs and slowly let their bodies merge. She kissed her, both hands in her hair, caressing her face and her neck as she explored her mouth. Dimly, she felt Melinda’s nails course up and down her back and finally grip her ass, urging their hips together, harder, faster. Ari felt herself start to climb and eased away.

“What?” Melinda asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Ari said quickly, kissing her. “I didn’t come earlier and I’m…I’m close.”

The corner of Melinda’s mouth lifted in a smile. “I
did
come earlier, and I’m close, too. Will you let me touch you while you touch me?”

Ari shifted onto her side so they could look into each other’s eyes, then she caressed Melinda’s breasts as they kissed again. Slowly, she dipped lower, smoothing her fingers over the silky skin of Melinda’s belly, brushing the soft strands between her thighs.

“I’m not delicate,” Melinda whispered, her breath hot against Ari’s neck. “And I’m very certain that I want you to do this.” As if to make sure Ari understood, Melinda swept her hand up the inside of Ari’s thigh and stroked through the wetness between her legs.

“Jesus,” Ari blurted, her hips jumping. “God.”

“Oh, I think you might be just a little closer than me.”

Nerve endings jangling, Ari rested her forehead against Melinda’s and slid her fingers on either side of Melinda’s clitoris. She squeezed gently and Melinda did the same. When she pressed and circled, Melinda echoed her, and she was lost. “I’m going to come in about one second.”

“Oh, me, too.” Melinda nipped at Ari’s lip and sucked the tip of her tongue. “God, it’s so good. So good.”

Ari forced herself to keep her eyes open, watching Melinda’s face as her orgasm flooded her, just as she had watched her on the monitor. Melinda was so much more beautiful now, her eyes shimmering with tears of pleasure and something Ari couldn’t name, her body flowing hot and silky under Ari’s fingers with each surge of pleasure. Ari climaxed, her own release so much less essential than Melinda’s. When Melinda finally quieted in her arms, only then did Ari close her eyes.

“I’d love to come for you again,” Melinda said, her voice drowsy and satisfied. “Like I did earlier, with you watching. But I don’t think I’ll be able to, if I don’t know that you’re the one looking at the monitor.”

“How about I just watch you here?”

“And the other things I might want to do?”

“Anything.”

“I’m not…I haven’t…I might not be all you bet on.” Melinda suddenly sounded shy and uncertain.

Eyes still closed, Ari kissed Melinda’s temple and lazily caressed her back. “Don’t worry; I know all I need to know. After this, I’d bet on you blind.”

Dr. Saxon Sinclair contemplated her Scotch rocks and watched the third man in five minutes try to pick up the blonde sitting opposite her at the horseshoe shaped bar that occupied one corner of the Palace casino lounge. She didn’t ordinarily spend her nights in a bar, at least she hadn’t for the last five years. But she couldn’t sleep and her suite, although spacious, felt claustrophobic. She wondered briefly if the blonde, a fellow trauma surgeon she’d seen at the meeting just that morning, was having similar difficulties. She obviously wasn’t there to find company for the night, because she quickly dispatched anyone who seemed to be interested. It was possible, Sax supposed, that the only other single woman sitting at the bar was looking for a different sort of companionship than what the men were offering, but Sax hadn’t gotten that vibe the few times their eyes had met. No. She and the blonde were probably both sitting alone at three in the morning for exactly the same reason. A kind of loneliness that went deeper than any physical diversion could assuage.

“No, really, I’d rather just sit here and relax.” The blonde’s low, musical voice carried surprisingly well despite the cacophony of bells and whistles and constant rumble of voices coming from the gaming floor just beyond the lounge.

Sax narrowed her eyes as a heavyset middle-aged man in an expensive suit put his arm around the blonde’s shoulders and leaned down to say something else, crowding her at the same time as he made it difficult for her to move away. Again, she murmured no and shook her head, her expression one of forced pleasantness. Sax imagined the woman was trying to avoid a scene. She knew the man, another surgeon. She had met his wife earlier that week at one of the trauma conference social functions that she hadn’t been able to get out of, and remembered him mentioning that his son was a surgical resident somewhere in California. When the blonde signaled no for the third time, Sax felt a surge of anger that brought her to her feet. A woman shouldn’t have to say no even once just because she was sitting alone at a bar. She certainly shouldn’t have to say no three times. Just as Sax took a step forward, one of the Palace’s security guards, recognizable from her understated uniform of dark blazer, white shirt, and dark trousers, as well as by the name tag over her breast pocket and the radio receiver clipped to her ear, appeared as if by magic and tapped the aggressive surgeon on the shoulder. Whatever she said brought a flush to the man’s face and he rapidly strode away. As Sax reclaimed her barstool, she saw the guard murmur a word to the blonde, who fleetingly touched her arm, allowing her fingers to linger for just a moment on the sleeve of the blue blazer. Then the guard, too, disappeared. The exchange had been so brief, Sax doubted anyone would have noticed, but to her, the connection was unmistakable. Her chest tightened and she ached for just a simple touch, just a few seconds of feeling as if she weren’t hopelessly, helplessly adrift.

“Hey,” a deep voice said as a hand dropped heavily onto Sax’s shoulder. “I called your room and you didn’t answer. Listen, I have to go home.”

Sax glanced up at her friend and former resident, Quinn Maguire. Some people said they looked alike, but Sax couldn’t see it. They both had black hair and blue eyes, sure, but Quinn was an inch or so shorter and more muscular. And more importantly, Quinn always had an air of calm, steady focus about her that Sax rarely managed, especially lately. Right now though, Quinn appeared anything but calm—her cotton button-down collar shirt was rumpled and untucked, hanging out over her jeans. She wore loafers with no socks and had an expression Sax had never seen before. Panic.

“What’s the matter?” Sax asked.

“Nothing,” Quinn exclaimed. “Nothing. Honor called.” Quinn’s face widened into an enormous grin. “She’s in labor. Two weeks early. I gotta go. Sorry to leave you hanging with the panel tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sax stood to give Quinn a quick squeeze on the arm. “Give Honor my love and call me with an update, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. I will.” Quinn turned to go, then looked back, her expression unexpectedly serious. “You’re okay, right?”

Sax worked up a smile. “Sure, I’m okay. Jesus, you think I can’t get through a twenty minute presentation without you?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Quinn said quietly.

“I know what you meant.” Sax knew she sounded gruff, but it suddenly felt like she was pushing her words out through ground glass. “Just go, already.”

“You’ll call me too, with any news, right?”

Sax nodded.

“She’s okay, you know,” Quinn said.

“Yeah,” Sax said roughly. “Sure.”

Then Quinn was gone and Sax was alone again. Even the blonde was gone. She sat back down, drained her Scotch, and signaled for another. Three weeks. She hadn’t heard from Jude in three weeks. It wasn’t unusual for her to go days, sometimes a week or even a little longer, without hearing from her, but this was the longest it had ever been. If she knew where she was, or even where to start looking, she would have flown to Iraq four days ago instead of Las Vegas. She knew where Jude had been eleven weeks earlier when she’d started out from Fallujah, one of three embedded journalists with a mobile division of the second Marines. After that, Jude’s e-mails had been brief and sporadic and absent of any detail. After five years of being married to a documentary filmmaker, Sax recognized Jude’s attempts to play down just how bad whatever particular natural disaster or human horror she was investigating really was. She was used to Jude being gone, too, sometimes for weeks at a time. This time it was different. This time she felt their connection, which was always so strong no matter where in the world Jude was, grow thinner and thinner until she feared it had snapped. And as the ties to Jude slid through her fingers like so many infinitesimal grains of sand that she tried so desperately to hold in her closed fists, she watched the world around her fade to a gray unreality, as if she were watching life on the screen of an old black-and-white television. She knew Jude would be pissed at her for losing her grip, so she tried to pretend that life went on. She was at the damn conference, wasn’t she?

She rubbed the back of her neck, tired and so damn lost.

“Here, why don’t you let me do that?” a husky voice said from behind her as Sax’s hand was replaced by two smaller ones.

Sax gripped the rounded edges of the shiny black bar top with both hands, struggling for balance. Her head felt as if a bomb had burst inside it. Her voice came out barely a whisper. “Jude?”

“For your sake, it better be.” Jude’s breasts pressed against Sax’s back as she leaned down and kissed her just below her ear. “Because I’d find out otherwise, and you’d be dead meat, Sinclair.”

“How?”

“I saw Quinn grabbing a cab out front. She told me where you were.”

Sax hadn’t yet glanced back, almost too afraid to discover that she might be hallucinating. Still, when she reached back she grasped a warm hand, rougher than she remembered, but just as strong.

“No, I mean, how are you here?”

“Military transport. I got lucky and there was an extra seat at the last second. It was either get on the plane without calling you, or miss it all together. I’ve been traveling about two days.”

Finally, Sax swiveled on the seat and faced her lover. Right before she left, Jude had cut her shoulder length red hair short. It was shaggy and needed a cut now, falling just above her collar in thick waves. She wore a tan T-shirt and faded khaki camos, and even in the low light of the bar, Sax could tell her pale skin had tanned in the unrelenting desert sun. Clearly exhausted, she appeared wraithlike, and Sax saw the haunted expression her lover tried to hide with a welcoming smile.

“Hi, baby,” Jude Castle said, leaning in between Sax’s spread legs and slipping both arms around Sax’s neck. She kissed her firmly, but far too briefly, and then leaned back. “I know you hate these conferences, so I thought I’d drop in and distract you.”

“Working pretty good so far.” Sax rose and slid her arm around Jude’s waist. “Let’s head upstairs. You look a little tired.”

Jude laughed shortly. “I look like hell.” She frowned as they started to walk. “You look a little thin, too. And what are you doing up at almost four in the morning?”

“Hoping to get lucky,” Sax murmured, kissing Jude’s temple.

“Did you?”

“Oh yeah.”

Once upstairs, Sax stripped, lowered the room lights, and turned down the bed while Jude took a quick shower. When Jude walked naked out of the bathroom toweling her hair, Sax’s only thought was to get her into bed and hold her. Hold her where she could rest and be safe. Then she registered the scar, immediately assessing in her surgeon’s mind the barely healed wound on Jude’s abdomen. She was across the room in three long strides.

“What is this?” Sax demanded, unable to keep her fear from translating into anger. A seven-inch long, angry red ridge wrapped around Jude’s left flank just below her ribs “You didn’t tell me you’d been injured.”

For a second, Jude seemed confused, then she reflexively covered the area with her hand. “God, I’m so tired I forgot about it. It wasn’t anything much. Just a glancing—”

Sax spun around and stalked to the far side of the room, which suddenly felt even smaller than it had hours before, when it held only her loneliness. Now there wasn’t enough space to contain her rage, but it wasn’t Jude she wanted to lash out at. With her back still turned, she snarled, “That’s a bullet wound. Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t know if the trajectory had been slightly different you’d be dead right now? Jesus Christ, how could you not tell me?”

“I knew you’d worry, and I knew I would be all right,” Jude said softly, suddenly right behind Sax. “Baby, you’re shaking.”