Sunny Chandler's Return (10 page)

Sunny lowered her head. So Fran had said. He let a woman know beforehand exactly what she was getting into. Staring straight into that muscled wall of chest with its blanket of fuzzy gold hair, Sunny could understand why some of his women went so willingly to the emotional slaughterhouse.

He placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her head. “I haven’t broken tradition yet. You knew from the beginning, moments after I met you, what I wanted.”

“To win your bet.”

“To get you in bed.”

“One and the same.”

“Hardly,” he rasped. “Much as I like sipping Wild Turkey, sweetheart, I’d rather be tasting you.”

Her insides took an elevator ride. “I said no,” she said tremulously. “Didn’t that change your mind?”

He took half a step closer. “Touch me and see.”

At his bold invitation, she sucked in her breath sharply and turned her back on him. “Do you eat salt on your popcorn?”

He followed her into the kitchen. “Sure,” he answered, lazily drawing the word out.

The man’s moods were chameleonlike. Sunny wished she could recover from their sexual bantering as rapidly and with as much skill as he.

He took a metal saltshaker—the ugly, industrial kind with a handle—down from the pantry and shook it over the bowl of popcorn. Then he dribbled the melted butter over it.

Sunny watched the golden, liquid butter trickle through the fluffy white kernels. She decided that the only thing that smelled better than freshly popped popcorn and melted butter was Ty Beaumont. His cologne was potent enough to attract her, but elusive enough to tantalize instead of overwhelm.

He wiped the last drop of melted butter from the rim of the pan before setting it aside. Lifting his coated finger to her lips, he painted them with the butter until they were slippery and shiny.

Apparently all his neighbors had gone inside. No longer were sounds of activity coming from beyond the doors of his house. The sun had slipped far enough below the horizon to bathe the kitchen with its vermilion afterglow. The atmosphere was warm and still and silent. He emanated heat. His fingertip was smooth and firm as it unhurriedly smoothed the butter over her lips.

Sunny’s heart was pounding so hard it frightened her. Perhaps that was why she spoke his name with such an imploring, puzzled inflection. “Ty?”

“Hmm?”

His open mouth moved down to hers. He barely touched her lips, only exchanged breath, until he felt her yearning body strain up against his. He flicked his tongue over her buttery lips, making low, hungry sounds deep in his throat. Licking, tasting, his tongue was nimble and wet and suggestive. Her lips parted and reached for his. Her breath came in rapid little puffs.

When she thought she might lose her mind from suppressed longing, his tongue finally breached her lips and flirted with the tip of hers. Then, making a savage sound, he pressed his lips firmly against hers. They were slick, and the slip-sliding friction was breathtakingly sexy.

“You know I still want you,” he growled, keeping his lips against hers. “Don’t you?” She whimpered an answer that was unsatisfactory to him. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, and moaned. She couldn’t very well deny it when the rigid evidence of his want was rammed against her softness with a swift, masculine thrust. Mindless of the consequences, she cuddled it between her thighs and, coming up on tiptoes, rode it gently.

Ty cursed scandalously into her mouth, before filling it with his tongue. His large hands spread wide over her back and pulled her so close that her breasts were flattened against his hammering heart.

Beyond thought of anything else—his obscure past, hers—Sunny threaded her fingers up through his dark blond hair and held his head fast while the fires in her belly spread to every part of her body and threatened to consume her.

“Sunny, Sunny.” Groaning, he buried his face in her neck. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

Her body slumped against his in surrender. When he set her away from him, propping her against the countertop, her eyes could barely focus on the face that had disturbed her dreams and been at the root of shameless, countless fantasies in the last few days.

“We’d better be going then,” he said. “If we don’t leave now, we won’t get a good spot at the drive-in.”

Six

The Gator Drive-In was packed to capacity even though it was a weeknight. Ty was heartily greeted when he stopped at the admission gate. Apparently he came to the drive-in often, and Sunny couldn’t help but wonder with whom. Raising his hips, he angled his body straight beneath the steering wheel in order to fish several bills from the pocket of his tight jeans.

Since leaving his house, Sunny had maintained a stony silence. Her pouting was childish, but she was so furious she knew her voice would crack if she tried to speak.

How many times was she going to fall for his sexual sabotage? Every time he took her in his arms, she behaved out of character. Her mind became as traitorous as her body. All he had to do was touch her and her brain shut down operations. Common sense deserted her. She became as obedient as a puppet, responding only to its master’s hand.

Was she getting soft? Losing sight of the grim facts of life? Men had no consciences. Hadn’t she found that out the hard way? They weren’t to be trusted. So why was she so compliant to the sheriff when his foreplay led to nothing but frustration?

Everyone else in town seemed to like and respect him, however. As he drove up and down the curved aisles of the outdoor theater, Ty Beaumont was honked at and waved to. He called back hellos, addressing people by name.

“There aren’t any spaces left this close to the screen,” Sunny commented cantankerously. He’d driven down the same rows several times.

“I know. I’m just letting all the rowdy boys know I’m here. They’ll behave better.”

Darkness had fallen and the credits were already rolling on the first movie of the double feature before he finally pulled the Datsun into a vacant space in the back row. He adjusted the speaker in the window. “Can you hear all right?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“Good. I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

He squeezed her knee before he opened his door and slid out. The affectionate gesture startled her so much that she had a delayed reaction to his desertion.

“Wait,” she cried out to his retreating back, “where are you going?”

“I’ll be back.”

She watched him weave his way through the rows of parked cars until he disappeared, muttering deprecations toward a man who would abandon his date at the drive-in. He returned in under ten minutes, but by that time, Sunny was stewing. “Where did you go?”

“I had to check on something.”

“I hope it was important,” she said snidely.

“I think so. There was a lot of dope in the junior high school last spring. I wanted to make sure the cigarette I saw those kids passing around was tobacco.”

Sunny felt very small. She asked, “Was it?”

“If it hadn’t been I’d be taking them to jail right now.”

“Junior high kids?”

“I took an oath to uphold the law. Drugs are against the law; I don’t care who’s using them.”

This was a side of Ty Beaumont Sunny had never seen. Gone was the teasing gleam in his blue eyes. The insinuating smile had thinned into an indomitable frown, a clear indication that he took some things, particularly his job, seriously. Ty Beaumont could be uncompromising. The thought was unsettling.

“But it wasn’t pot, so we can relax.” He smiled across at her, his earlier mood returning. “Ready for some popcorn?”

Sunny’s mouth was dry and her stomach was jumpy, but she nodded and answered yes. For a while, they watched the movie, but neither was interested in the plot that revolved around grisly murders. Sunny couldn’t keep her eyes on the screen and off the man who intrigued her in spite of herself. Every time she surreptitiously glanced at him, he was watching her. His stare made her nervous.

So much so that when he spoke to her, she nearly jumped out of her skin. “What?”

“I asked how you’re surviving the week in your hometown.”

“Okay. I dreaded coming back, but my visit hasn’t been too bad. Only three more days and I can leave.”

“Seen many people?”

She shook her head and dusted her lap free of the salt that had shaken off the popcorn. “Only Frannie and the kids. I keep to myself as much as possible. Of course, you did the gossips a world of good by parading me through the drive-in tonight.”

His white grin shone even in the darkness. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold. And so do you.”

She looked away and took several sips of the Coke he had opened for her. His cold drink can was tucked between his thighs against his solid maleness. She tried to keep her eyes away from the spot.

“Heard from the bank?”

She made a sound of regret. “Not yet.” A thousand times that day, she had willed the telephone to ring, but it hadn’t. The deadline she had extended Mr. Smithie was fast approaching.

“No news is good news.”

“That’s as banal as the movie script,” she told Ty.

“But I mean well. I’m only trying to make you feel better.”

“I don’t want to feel better,” she said irritably. “I want the loan. It makes me furious to think of Mr. Smithie and his ilk sorting through my personal accounts, discussing me, judging my character on the basis of one day out of my life. What does that have to do with my ability to repay a loan? What does one have to do with the other? But you can bet when they analyze my application, that’s what will be on their petty little minds.”

She paused to draw a deep breath and, without knowing that she did it, turned more toward Ty and raised one knee, hooking her foot behind the other leg.

“Do they remember that I was president of the student council for three straight years? No. That I graduated from Latham High School with honors? No. That I was on the dean’s list each semester I was at LSU? No. They’ve forgotten all that. All they remember about Sunny Chandler is her wedding day.”

“Well, you gotta admit that it
was
rather memorable.”

She glanced up and caught his wide smile. “Forget it.” Angrily, she put both feet on the floorboard again and faced forward. “I can’t imagine why I’m talking about my business with you. You’re laughing at me.”

“I was smiling,” he exclaimed, clearly affronted. “You know what your problem is? You’re too high-strung. Always on the defensive.”

“I am not!”

“See?” He pointed his index finger at her. “That’s what I’m talking about. No wonder you went through the local boys like quicksilver. I’d bet that if one so much as disagreed with you on the price of eggs, you dumped the poor sucker. He was out because he didn’t cater to you, pay you homage.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? You can’t stand being topped.” His hand shot out and grabbed a handful of her hair. Using it, he pulled her across the console of the Datsun until her face was directly beneath his. “Let me tell you something, Sunny Chandler. When I top you, you’re gonna love it.”

“Let me go.”

“And I’ll tell you something else.” Pushing the words through his bared teeth, he wound another inch of her hair around his fist. “If I’d been Don Jenkins, you would have never made it through the door of that church. Do you think I’d have let you walk out on me without so much as how-dee-do? No way. I wouldn’t have let you go without a fight, and I think there’s something seriously wrong with Jenkins for letting a firecracker like you get away.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yes, I do. I know your type. Fiercely independent. Always has to have the upper hand. The last word. You look like sugar, but you’re pure starch. You keep a fellow’s balls in a vise.” He laughed at her shocked expression. “Well, you’ve met your match, sweetheart, and there’s gonna be hell to pay. Beware.”

Sunny, pushing against his chest, tried to work herself free. “While we’re on the subject of types, I know all about yours, too,” she lashed out. “You think you’re God’s gift to women.”

“I’ve had very few complaints,” he said arrogantly. “Certainly no returns.”

“Whenever you flash that come-hither smile, you think a woman should lie down and put out and feel honored for having been granted the privilege.”

Grinning in his most ingratiating way, Ty finally released her. She moved back to her side of the car. “You can sure get down and get dirty when your hackles are raised, can’t you, Miss Sunny?”

Shooting him a fulminating look, Sunny rubbed the sore spot on her scalp where he’d had a grip on her hair. He was a barbarian . . . but a barbarian with insight. She did keep men at a distance. But it was to protect herself, not to tease them. In that respect Ty was wrong about her.

In a strange way, his sudden attack had excited her. No man had ever been so
physical
with her. She had liked feeling his breath strike her face on each deliberate word. His voice was laced with so much suggestion it seemed tangible. The hint of latent violence that lay just below his easygoing surface held an appeal for her that she was ashamed of.

But, as before, she refused to let him see her shaken. Instead, she pretended to be annoyed. “You made me miss a crucial part of the movie.”

“You enjoy seeing cops get blown away?”

“If this kind of movie bothers you, why did you bring me here?”

“This kind of movie doesn’t bother me. Hollywood could never portray it as bad as it really is.”

Again, she got a glimpse of his serious side. “Were you a cop before you came to Latham Green?”

“Yes.”

“In an urban area?” Sunny glanced at the screen where a high-speed chase down a city thoroughfare resulted in yet another violent death.

Ty, his eyes also on the screen, only nodded in answer.

“Why did you leave?” she asked.

He swiveled his head around and impaled her with a cold, blue stare. “Because I could no longer tell the good guys from the bad ones.”

Sunny realized that she was sticking her neck out when it would have been much safer not to. Fran had hinted that Ty Beaumont’s past was shrouded in mystery, but it wasn’t merely curiousity that prompted her to ask, “What happened?”

“It’s a long, boring story.”

“I wouldn’t be bored.”

“I would.”

“Don’t you miss city life?”

“Nope.”

“Not at all?”

“Not at all.”

“You’ll never go back?”

“Never.”

As though to close the subject, he snapped the lid over their bowl of popcorn and set it behind his seat. After he had placed the cooler back there as well, he turned sideways and stared at Sunny.

“What’s the matter?” she asked self-consciously.

“Nothing I can see from here. I’d say you were just about perfect.”

He reached for the first button on her blouse and undid it. Moving the fabric aside, he ran his index finger over the smooth curve of her breast. The gesture took her so by surprise that it was several moments before she reacted.

“Leave it,” he said sternly when she lifted her hand to do the button up. “I like looking at you.” His gaze fastened on the mound of flesh that he had provocatively exposed. “It makes my mouth water.”

Sunny went very still. She couldn’t explain why she was allowing him to touch her this way. Maybe it was because the expression on his face was so intense. There wasn’t a woman alive who could resist that kind of absolute concentration from a man.

He touched the lace trim. “What’s this called?”

“A camisole.”

He slipped his hand into her blouse and cupped her silk-covered breast only long enough to verify that the camisole was the only underclothing she was wearing. His hand was large, strong, warm, and Sunny was pierced to the core with desire. She wanted her breast to continue filling his palm forever. But he withdrew his hand and only smoothed his fingers back and forth across the sloping curve.

“You wear this camisole instead of a bra?”

“Sometimes.”

“I like it.”

“Thank you.”

She wouldn’t have thought an absurd conversation like this was possible between a modern man and woman. If it hadn’t been for the constant motion of his stroking fingers, she would have thought she was imagining this.

“Whenever I was on a stakeout,” he said reflectively, “or something really hellish had happened, I often fantasized about a woman’s breasts.”

“Most men do.”

“In a lecherous way. And sometimes my fantasies were strictly sexual, too. But often I daydreamed about breasts in a . . . I don’t know . . . a nurturing sense. Sometimes in my fantasies I was peeling down a garment of lacy lingerie, like this camisole, and revealing a beautiful breast. I’d kiss it. Then lay my head there.” His mouth quirked in a derisive smile. “Freud would have had a field day with me.”

Sunny’s throat was so congested she could hardly speak. When she did, her voice was husky with emotion and arousal. “I can understand that. The breast represented peace to you. A haven. Much like a man’s shoulder would to a woman. When I feel alone, my favorite fantasy is to be sitting on a man’s lap with his strong arms around me, my head resting on his shoulder. It really has nothing to do with sex.”

His fingers became still, barely hovering over her skin. He lifted his gaze to Sunny’s eyes. “Doesn’t it?”

Mesmerized, she stared back at him. “I don’t know.”

For ponderous moments they stared at each other.