The Sex On Beach Book Club (21 page)

She leaned her head back to look up at him. “I don't have much to give.”

That made his heart stutter. “The hell you don't.” He lifted her up in his arms and put her on the bed. Following her down, he laid over her and pushed her thighs apart. “You have what I need, Holly.” She was so ready, the head of his dick slid inside her. He held himself there, waiting.

Her eyes darkened to middle blue. “This I can give you.” She tilted her hips up.

“Keep looking at me.” He thrust into her, burying himself deeper than he'd ever been inside any woman. When she gasped, he held himself still. “Too much?” He felt her clench and pulse around him and, God, it was perfect.

“Yes. No. Don't stop.”

Like he could. “I won't.” He took her mouth and made good on his promise, thrusting deeper and harder as she writhed and arched into an orgasm. He raised his mouth from hers and watched. “Look at me!”

She did, letting him to see the pleasure sweep her away. Allowing him to see the moment she stopped fighting and let herself be vulnerable.
Sexy and priceless
was his last thought as he pressed even deeper into her and came in long, hot, endless vibrations.

Finally able to breathe, he had started to tell her what she meant to him when his cell phone rang.

T
he sound of the cell phone broke the moment. Holly had been staring up into Wes's face, into his eyes. She had seen the climax take him, felt him come deep inside of her. His expression had told her that she was special. That sex between them was special. She had to put things right, remind them both that this was temporary.

So she had started to tell him the truth about the scar that he was so strangely fascinated with. But the phone rang from somewhere on the floor where Wes had left his pants.

“It's George, most likely,” Wes said. He had his arms braced on either side of her head. He kissed her forehead, got up, and quickly found his pants. Once he fished out his cell phone, he answered with, “So, are you in?”

Holly got up and started dressing while he paced. If George got them onto Cullen's boat, they might find some answers. And when they solved the case, Wes could find his sister. After pulling on her jeans, she picked up her bra.

“Okay, we'll meet you there.” Wes hung up and looked at her. “He's leaving my house now so he'll get to Cullen's boat first.”

Holly fastened the bra and picked up her shirt. “How did he get permission?”

He pulled on his pants and picked up his shirt. “He contacted Cullen's mother in Oregon and told her he was interested in buying the boat. She was very cooperative.”

Holly looked around for her hair clip and spotted it on the dresser. Twisting up her hair, she said, “As far as I know, his mother hasn't come to Goleta to claim Cullen's body, or find out what happened to him.”

Wes put on his shoes and stood up from the edge of the bed. “Maybe they're not close. I'm sure the police have contacted her. Why?”

She turned around, looked at him, and felt a hollow place open up in her chest. She hated it, hated the vulnerable feeling Wes exposed in her. “After we search Cullen's boat, I'm going to Riverside. I'll call you if I find anything.”

He reached out and pulled her to him, down across his thighs. He pushed his hand deep into her hair. “Thank you, Holly.”

She shifted, feeling nervous. “For what? It was just sex.”

His smile spread in a warm and wicked grin. “No, it wasn't. It was great sex and more.” He leaned his face close to her. “You trusted me.”

“Knock it off, Brockman. We need to get going.” She levered off his lap.

He grabbed her hand. “Holly, I don't want you going to Riverside alone. If you still need to go after we take a look at Cullen's boat, I'll go with you.”

She went still, but her mind raced. “Why?”

He looked up at her with his green eyes. “It could be dangerous.”

Was he serious? “That's what you're paying me for, book boy. Don't worry about the danger, that's my job.”

Standing up, he kept hold of her hand. “I don't want anything to happen to you. It's called caring. People do it all the time.” He leaned down, kissed her, and added, “Let's go. We'll take my car.”

They ended up parking in the parking lot behind Wes's bookstore and walking to the docks. This time it was full daylight on a Sunday afternoon, unlike when Holly followed Cullen and Tanya to the docks after the book club meeting. People milled around, tourists buying food from the vendors and looking at the boats. Holly stayed quiet as they walked to the gate that would let them into the section where the boats were docked. The water below them smacked against the pilings and hulls. The air smelled like brine, old seaweed, and the oily scent of boats.

She took it all in, acutely aware of how vulnerable and exposed Wes was as he walked along beside her. She had her gun in her purse, but now she wished she'd put on a holster and worn a jacket. There was a vibration in the air that she hoped was from the sound of boat engines as they went in and out of the harbor, and not because Wes was in danger.

Two little boys raced past her. She turned to watch them and heard their mother calling out for them to slow down. For a second, her concentration was on the two boys and their bright, laughing faces. When she realized what she was doing, she jerked her head back around, brutally ignoring the regret in her gut, and focused on her job.

She spotted George by the gate waiting for them. Heading toward him, she looked around again. She needed to keep her mind on Wes's safety, on finding the connection that would lead them to Cullen's killer, and the person screwing with Wes's life.

Someone from his past.

“I just got here,” George said as they walked up to him. “I stopped by the police station to get the key.”

She watched as he turned and inserted the key into the lock. George had shed his coat, choosing to wear a short-sleeved black pullover. She was pretty sure he'd strapped a gun to his ankle. He didn't seem like the type to go unarmed. Like her, he believed Wes was in danger.

George kept scanning the docks just like she did. Habit, or did he feel uneasy, too? Or maybe it was just the knowledge that they were going onto a dead man's boat. While George held the gate, she and Wes walked through.

The slap of the water against the hulls of the boats was louder. Down the dock a ways, a boat was heading in toward the slip. Up on her left, a group of young twenty-somethings laughed as they moved around on a medium-sized boat. George led the way to Cullen's boat, while she and Wes walked side by side one step behind him. From what Holly remembered, the boat was about halfway down the dock on the right.

Wes said, “Did you talk to Rodgers, George?”

They both saw him nod, then he said, “She said she didn't believe I was interested in buying the boat and I'd better damn well tell her if we find anything related to the case.” He slowed down as they approached Cullen's boat.

Holly half-smiled at Rodgers' comments while scanning the rows of docks. So many people out on a Sunday afternoon, she thought.

She heard Wes say, “We need to find something, we need a break.”

Both men stopped walking, and Holly pulled up behind them. The sun was bright, bouncing off the water and making her eyes water behind her sunglasses. But a sudden glint caught her attention.

Her heart thudded.
A gun!
She wasn't taking a chance that she'd been wrong. “Wes! George! Down!” She turned to look at them while reaching into her purse to get her gun out. They were both standing with their backs to her, looking at Cullen's boat. Wes turned and reached for her.

George turned to scan the same area she had.

The crack froze them all. Holly stared at Wes. Oh God, was he hit? No blood bloomed anywhere on him that she could see. Her mind raced.

George said, “Well, damn,” and sank to the ground.

“What the hell!” Wes roared, dropping the hand he'd been reaching for Holly with and squatting down next to George.

“Gunshot.” Holly's reactions kicked in. She already had her gun in her hand. She took up a protective stance, trying to keep her body between the two men on the docks, and the area she thought the gunshot had come from. She couldn't be sure where she'd spotted the glint of sunlight off metal as the shooter had raised the gun. It had all happened so fast and a good part of her reaction had been training and instincts. But she thought it was one or two docks over.

She scanned her gaze over everyone, trying to spot the gun. Close by, people realized something had happened and were quiet. A few voices were calling out, “What was that? Did a boat hit?” An older couple appeared on the deck of their boat nearby.

Holly couldn't find any sign of a gun. Where was the shooter? Her heart banged against her chest, blood roared in her ears, but her mind was crystal clear. “Wes, where is he shot?”

“Back of his left shoulder. Lot of blood. I don't think the bullet went in, but it tore an ugly gash.”

“It's fine. Help me stand,” George said.

She kept scanning, looking for the danger. She saw a speedboat roaring away. Was the shooter on that boat? To Wes, she instructed, “Do not let him move! Both of you stay down!” She was not going to let the shooter finish the job.

Someone from her left shouted, “Oh my God!” Someone had opened the dock gate and people rushed in.

Holly turned. It was two men in their fifties. No gun. “Call nine-one-one and report a shooting. We need an ambulance. Now.”

The man who had spoken stared with a blank face. But his companion snapped into action. He pulled out a phone and started talking.

Holly heard the man say into the phone, “A man has been shot.” Nodding to herself, she knew that would get the police here with lights and sirens. She turned back to watch the crowd and keep her body between danger and Wes and George.

But she knew the shooter was gone. It was just too freaking perfect. A crowd of people, and she'd bet no one saw the gun. They wouldn't expect it, and it all happened so fast, the shock would blur the details.

And the shooter would get away.

Fury pounded at her as more people approached, sickly curious about the man who had been shot. Voices reached her.

“Wife caught him cheating…”

“Business deal gone bad…”

She shut it out and asked, “Wes, how is he?”

“Okay.”

It felt like hours had passed as she tried to keep the situation under control and safe, but she knew it had only been minutes. She could hear the sirens approaching. “Wes, get George's gun and put it in my purse. I'm pretty sure he has a piece on his ankle. Get the holster, too.”

“Smart,” George said from the ground.

“Always,” Holly shot back, feeling the weight of Wes slipping George's gun into her purse as the sirens screamed closer. Deputies were the first ones through the gate. Holly turned, quickly identified herself, and gave the gun in her hand to the closest deputy.

It was a safety precaution. The cops acted first to ensure everyone's safety, then sorted out the details later. She'd get her gun back once they had a read on the situation. She filled them in. “We were accompanying the victim to look at a boat he was interested in buying when he was shot. I didn't see a shooter, but it seems to have come from one or two rows over.”

One deputy took careful notes while paramedics worked on George. They said that when George had turned at Holly's warning, he prevented the bullet from plowing through his back and chest. Instead, it had dug a groove through the back of his upper left side.

Had someone tried to kill George? Why? To torment Wes? Or had they tried to kill Wes and missed?

 

“I'm not taking drugs.” George sat on the couch in Wes's living room. His face was pale and drawn tight.

“Don't be stupid,” Wes yelled at him. “The doctor said to take the pain pills every four hours!” He shoved the bottle of pills in George's face.

Monty whined and ran over to Holly. He sat down by her leg and whined in his throat.

Holly rolled her eyes. Men. They were both pissed off. Add to that George's pain from being shot and stitched up, and Wes's fear for his friend, and they were both acting like little boys in the middle of a temper tantrum. They'd stand there all night and yell at each other to keep from thinking about what could have happened.

She pushed off the edge of the fireplace, bent over, and picked up Monty. He licked her face.
Ugh.
Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she stalked over to Wes and snatched the pills from him.

Wes turned to glare at her.

She shoved the dog into his arms. He had no choice but to take the dog. Monty immediately burrowed into Wes's arms, trying his best to make Wes pet him.

Satisfied that the dog would keep Wes quiet for a minute, she opened the bottle and poured out two pills. Then she set the bottle down on the table behind her and picked up the glass of water. When she was ready, she fixed her gaze on George. “You can either take these like a good boy or I'm going to shove them down your throat.” She leaned forward to stare at his pain-filled eyes. “You are in so much pain, you can't even lift your arm. Don't screw with me, George, I'm not in the mood.” She held out the pills.

He blinked once, then said, “You're a piece of work, Hillbay.” He took the pills.

“Yeah yeah, gutter mouth, I know.” She put the glass of water into his right hand. “Just take the pills so we can get to work.”

Wes stood at the end of the couch with Monty in his arms and snorted.

George ignored Wes and handed her the water back. “We?”

She knew George's goal was to help Wes. Then he didn't have any more goals. She wasn't about to let Wes lose his friend. “You think one little bullet is a reason to slack off? We need to figure out who knew we were going to be there on the docks. And what they didn't want us to find.”

He reached beside him to pick up a pillow. “Detective Rodgers and Cullen's mom knew I would be there.”

Holly took the pillow from his hand and walked around the back of the couch, and Wes, since he was standing there. She met his gaze, and saw his relief that George had taken the pills. She reached out and put her hand on the bulge of his bicep. Then she went behind George, tucked the pillow behind his neck and head, and said, “His mom lives in Oregon, I don't see how she could have told anyone that matters in Goleta. Who did you pick up the keys from?”